When She Dances
by Hoedogg
Summary: Mary takes a wild new job in Fort Lauderdale. R for adult content. In Chapter 17, Mary has lunch with an old friend.
1. New

DISCLAIMER:  7th Heaven characters are not my creation.  I'm just having fun with them.  This story contains some suggestive content and may not be appropriate for younger readers.

***

No more Captain Smith.  Or was it Captain Jack?  Or just Jack?

Maybe that was part of the problem.  She never knew what to call him.  Slightly more than twice her age.  Far superior to her in the chain of airline employee command.  So kind and gentle and…fatherly.  What was the proper way to address a lover who reminded her so much of her father?

Well, not exactly a lover.  Maybe that was another part of the problem.  At almost twenty-two years of age, Mary Camden still adhered to that oh-so-Camden principle of not having adult relations before marriage.  She and Captain Smith…er, Jack, were so far away from marrying each other that sex just wasn't anywhere in sight.  That had to be a major turnoff for the old man…er, the guy.  Didn't it?  It certainly was for her, although she never would have admitted it to anyone.

Of course, there was Ben too.  In truth, she still had feelings for him – another thing she never would have admitted.  Perhaps Captain Jack had been no more than a tool, used for the express purpose of chipping into that macho façade Ben had put on ever since her rejection of his marriage proposal.  Seeing his old girlfriend again, really, what was up with that?  What was he trying to prove?  And what was Mary trying to prove to him in response, by going out with Captain Jack?

Robbie was right about all these things, and it was nice of him to call her to talk about it and set everything straight.  She needed that in her life, Mary did.  A man to set her straight.  Just not Captain Jack.  Not now, anyway.

***

The morning after their breakup – which Captain Jack had taken surprisingly well, so well in fact that one might even have called it a mutual breakup – was an exceptionally beautiful one for autumn in Fort Lauderdale.  Temperatures hovered in the mid-70's and the sun shone brighter than it ever had in Glenoak.  Birds, breezes, and bright blue skies greeted Mary when she stepped onto the balcony of her brand new single-bedroom third-floor apartment to drink her cup of coffee.

She absorbed her surroundings, admiring their beauty and tranquility.  A feeling of newness wrapped itself around her like a plush bathrobe.  New apartment, new town, new surroundings…new life.  No family around.  Not her parents, nor Matt, nor the Colonel.

Just Mary.

***

Her bliss proved to be short-lived.  As soon as she arrived at the airport for work, her new supervisor pulled Mary into her office.

"What do you mean I'm fired?" she asked the supervisor.  "I've only been at work here for three days.  How can I be fired already?"

"Now Mary," said the woman soothingly.   She was a kind but no-nonsense type probably in her forties, with shoulder-length blond hair, sensibly trimmed.  "You know that when you signed the contract it said that we could terminate you at any time without cause."

"The contract?  Nobody reads the stupid contract when they sign it.  It's like, fifteen pages of tiny little print!"

"Look, Mary, I'm not really supposed to tell you anything other than that you have twenty minutes to collect your personal items and turn in your badge to me.  Then you need to leave the airport."

"No."

"I'm sorry?"

"I said 'no'.  I'm not leaving until you tell me why I'm fired."

"Oh, Mary, let's not do this.  I'd hate to have to call security…"  
"Go ahead.  Terry and Reginald are on shift right now, and I'm not afraid of either of them."

The supervisor cocked her head slightly and said, "OK, see, Mary, that's one of the problems right there.  You've only been based at this airport for three days and you're already on such a * ahem * 'friendly' basis with the * ahem * young, male security staff that you know their names and their shift schedules."

Mary let out a disgusted snort.  "So what?  I'm a friendly, people person.  I mean, hello!  It's part of my job description as a flight attendant, you know?  Since I like, have to serve people all the time and stuff."

"Well, see, that's another problem.  We've had a number of complaints that you prefer to stand around and jaw with the passengers and flight crew about your love life when, in fact, you should be doing your job."

"What?  Complaints from who?"

"Whom?" her supervisor corrected her, but Mary was on too much of a roll to notice.

"Look, passengers like to complain, OK?  They're stuck in a tiny seat for a couple hours, we give them crappy peanuts and soda, they're a little edgy when they finally leave the plane."

"Actually, the majority of the complaints were from your co-workers, Mary."

This finally silenced her – for a moment anyway – until she continued, slightly taken aback, "My co-workers?"

Her supervisor just nodded, with a slight hint of empathy in her gaze.

"Gosh, and I thought I was doing so well.  You know, they seemed really nice to me and everything.  I would have thought they would have said something to me first, instead of, you know, getting me fired."

For the first time all day, her supervisor agreed that Mary had a point.  However, she had her orders.  She started to say something, thought better of it and held it back, but then decided to go ahead and say it anyway.  "Honey, you can't skip the safety demonstration during the taxi to the runway, OK?  It's an FAA regulation."

Mary looked at her dumbly.

"That means it's the law, dear.  On your last flight, Teresa had to go and re-do the session to cover your section of the plane because you neglected to do it."

Mary grunted.  "So what?  I mean, it's not like anybody doesn't know how to buckle their seatbelt or put a stupid oxygen mask on.  And the emergency exits?  I mean, duh, can't these people read?  It's a red sign, it says 'Exit' on it.  How hard is that?"

Despite Mary's obvious lack of job skills, her supervisor couldn't help but admire the girl's spunk.  The longer they chatted, the more difficult the firing was becoming for her.  She hastened the process along by stating, "Mary, I'm sorry dear.  You just don't get it.  You need to get your things and leave now."

Reality set into Mary's face, bringing the empathetic look back to her supervisor's visage.  "Well, what am I going to do now?  I just paid the deposit on a new apartment and signed a six-month lease.  I can't afford to break it, considering I'm only going to be able to cover it with three days' pay."

"I'm so sorry, honey.  I wish there were some way I could help."

Dejectedly, Mary rose from the chair in which she had been sitting and dazedly departed her supervisor's office, back into the bland beige airport hallway, wondering what letdown life held in store for her next.


	2. Fate Smiles

In a fit of angry self-pity, Mary peeled out of the parking lot and sped away from the airport in the car that her parents had let her keep, despite the fact that she had bought it on bad credit.

Merging onto the freeway, she pressed the gas pedal to the floor as her supervisor's parting words continued to chafe her like a hemorrhoid:  "Mary, I'm sorry dear.  You just don't get it."  Well of course she didn't "get it".  Had she ever "gotten it" before?

Had she "gotten it" that time when Mom and Dad sent her to Buffalo for all the stupid things she had been doing in Glenoak?  Nope.  Those final crazy, wasteful days in Glenoak, she had fooled herself into thinking she would be able to pull everything together.  Her parents knew the truth though, and it was the same then as it appeared to be now:  she just didn't "get it".

Nor did she "get it" when it came to Wilson.  Proposing to him after he caught her hooking up with Ben was certainly a last-ditch move.  The transparency of the effort had been obvious to him, but she had fooled herself into thinking it was the right thing to do at the time.  She didn't "get it" then either.

Nope.  Wilson had seen through her and realized she had feelings for Ben, that hunky, monosyllabic firefighter to whom she couldn't help but be animally attracted.  And the feelings had been mutual; Ben had proposed to her.  She recalled with disdain the flimsy reasons for turning him down that she had concocted.  Really, how would starting a relationship with Ben have prevented her from pursuing her career and independence?  Obviously, she had failed to "get it" then as well.    

God, could she do anything right?  Looking back at the past couple years, Mary realized it was just a trail of screw-ups – life choice screw-ups, relationship screw-ups, job screw-ups, screw-ups that had led her across the country more than once.

***

As she exited the freeway onto a boulevard, Mary glanced at her odometer and noted that it already read over thirty thousand miles.   The car had traveled so far even though it was still fairly new.  All those impulsive drives to and from Buffalo, and now to Fort Lauderdale, were adding up fast.  She wondered at the folly of her many travels, and a slightly self-deriding sneer began to form on her lips.

"No more," she thought to herself as she changed lanes.  "No more running wherever people tell me to go.  No more running based on my own crazy impulses, or so-called 'love'.

"It's time for me to wake up and smell reality.  And the reality is, I need money to pay the rent and feed myself, but I don't have a job.  And I don't have any real skills.  And I don't have much education, other than a high school diploma and a few random college classes.  Nor do I have any real job experience other than some flight attendant training and some firefighter training.  So in reality, I have about an equal shot of getting hired just about anywhere.  Which is to say, not a very good shot at all."  Her derisive sneer changed into a disillusioned frown.

As Mary pulled up to a stoplight, she closed her eyes to think things through.  After a moment, a crazy and impulsive plot began to form in her head.  She decided that she might as well act on it – even though just moments ago she had told herself that she would no longer do any such thing – because her situation was desperate.  "Hmm.  I have no good shot at getting hired anywhere, do I?  Oh well.  Since that's the case, then I might as well just walk into the next place I drive up to on the street and ask for a job application."

She smiled, trying to recapture some of that freewheeling self-confidence she had always brimmed with back in her high school days.  "Yeah.  As a matter of fact, that's what I'm going to do.  I'm going to stop at the next place up the road, walk in, and fill out an application.  Check that.  I'm not only going to fill out an application; I'm going to get a job there."

Car horns began to honk behind her as the light turned green.  Mary opened her eyes and stepped on the gas, passing through the intersection with renewed hope.  After she had crossed, she flipped on her blinker and turned into the first establishment on the right, parking in front of the building.

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me," she said as she stepped out of her vehicle and took a good look at the giant sign atop the building entrance.  Blinking in yellow neon on the left side of the sign, in profile, stood a tall, busty woman in a bikini.  To the right of her, in pink neon, blinked the name of the establishment where, fateful moments ago, Mary had proclaimed she would get a job:  The Foxxy Laydee.

Lifting her eyes heavenward, Mary sighed and queried, "Of all times to exhibit a sense of humor, why now?"


	3. A Bold Move

Mary quickly jumped back into her car, ready to speed away once again.  But when she inserted the keys into the ignition, a queasy feeling prevented her from turning them.  Perhaps the feeling stemmed from the thought that, were she to start the engine and race away again, she would just be repeating the behavior pattern that had gotten her where she was now:  unemployed and alone.

It was a behavior pattern she wanted to change.  That was why she had made the promise to herself:  the next place she saw, she would apply for a job, and she would get hired.  She wondered though, in this case shouldn't she break the vow?  After all, a job at this place might involve taking her clothes off in front of people.  Wasn't her dignity worth more than another silly broken promise?

Or was it?  She had already broken so many promises in her life that her word was barely worth listening to.  Never came through on that promise to pay back the money she had borrowed from the twins.  Promised Wilson's son Billy that she would stay in his life, yet she hadn't talked to the boy in almost a year.  Was it worth salvaging her dignity to break another vow, even if it had only been a silent pledge to herself?

"_No_," she decided.  "_Enough with the broken promises and the aimlessness_."  With stronger resolve, Mary stepped out of the car and entered the _Foxxy Laydee_.

The entryway was a simple cubical space, about twenty feet in each dimension, with deep purple walls.  The window glass on the front doors was painted black on the inside, preventing most of the day's abundant sunlight from streaming in.  Even though it was only about 10:30 in the morning, Mary could hear laughing voices, clinking glasses, and bass pounding from speakers inside the club.  She glanced across the entryway and saw that an attractive young blond woman dressed in a sheer white blouse stood behind a counter on the far end.

"May I help you?" the woman apathetically asked Mary while leafing through a glamour magazine.

"Um, yes, ma'am.  I was wondering if you were, maybe…I mean, I was thinking about possibly, um…you know, working here?"  Mary finally found the words within herself.

"You were wondering if we were hiring?" the woman decoded from Mary's babbling.

Mary nodded.

"Let me go get the manager," the woman replied, disappearing into the club.

After the woman had left, Mary peeked through the opening into the club area.  Approximately a dozen men sat scattered throughout the establishment drinking beers or cocktails, all of them with decent vantage points to the main stage.  The men watched as three girls danced in varying amounts of clothing.

One thin, shy-looking girl in a Catholic schoolgirl skirt, high white socks, black heels, and a tight white blouse, buttoned very low to expose her medium-sized braless cleavage, danced on the left side of the stage.  A more confident-looking dark-skinned beauty danced center stage in nothing more than a lime green thong bikini bottom and high heels.  Her breasts bounced bodaciously as she bobbed around a pole to the beat of the music.  At least half of the dozen or so men in the club were seated close enough to stuff bills of varying increments into her garter, should she be so kind as to grace them by dancing into their proximity.  Finally, on the right side of the stage danced the girl Mary thought was the most beautiful of the three.  She had creamy skin, full, red, pouty lips, and long, silky brown hair streaming from beneath a cowboy hat.  She wore a skimpy red leather vest, heeled red cowboy boots, a red-white-and-blue g-string bikini, and a holster containing two toy pistols she pulled out to "fire" at random patrons every now and then.  The wad of bills in her garter was substantial, but not as large as that of the girl in the center.

"_Wow, this place is really cheesy_," Mary thought.  "_It's bad enough that I'm about to apply for a job here, but if they make me wear outfits like the schoolgirl or the cowgirl?  I'd rather go near-nude like the girl in the middle_."

Mary was so entranced by the cowgirl's dancing that she hardly noticed when the woman from the front counter had returned with the manager.  As he stepped into her view, she observed that he was probably in his mid-thirties, in shape, somewhat handsome, and dressed in a sharp dark blue business-casual shirt and grey tie.  His hair had greyed a bit on the sides to match the tie, though it was not thinning at all.  He had slicked it back, which gave him the appearance of being a touch on the sleazy side.

"So you're looking for a job here?" he asked Mary curtly.

"Um, I think so…" Mary answered uncertainly, mentally cursing herself for her lack of enthusiasm.

"Well, we don't need any more waitresses or bartenders, but we are a couple dancers short at the present time.  Can you dance?"

Mary swallowed her pride and put on a brave face, eagerly answering, "Can I ever."

He hastily looked Mary up and down, then turned to the woman from the front counter and apathetically said, "Yeah, she'll do.  Have her fill out an application."  He then abruptly exited to the mysterious nether region of the club from which he had come.

"Here," the woman from the front counter impolitely beckoned Mary back into the entryway.  "Fill this out," she said, handing Mary an application form.

Mary grabbed a pen from the counter, moved back into the club area, and sat down at a table in the back to complete the application.  She filled it out in a leisurely fashion while she looked around the club, letting her surroundings soak in.

She noticed that the walls were the same deep purple as those in the entryway.  The floor was a slick black tile surface, and it appeared to have been cleaned recently.  "_Points for cleanliness_," Mary thought.  The faint smell of cigarette smoke lingered in the air, hinting that the place might become much smokier during brisk business hours.  "_I miss California's no-smoking laws_," she thought wistfully.  Soft ceiling lights, augmented here and there by neon beer signs, dimly lit the room.  There were at least thirty tables with four seats apiece, as well as additional seats in front of the bars and the stages.  Four bars were strategically spaced at different spots around the establishment, each one conveniently near to a stage.  The main stage covered an entire wall and was large enough to hold about six girls.  In addition, there were three side stages not in use at the moment, which looked large enough for three girls apiece.

The schoolgirl, cowgirl, and thong girl all danced on the main stage.  Mary studied each of them carefully, watching their moves as the men occasionally stuffed dollar bills in their garters.  She knew she could do better than any of them.  She could dance sexier and make more money; she just knew it.

Mary finished the application and turned it in to the girl at the counter.  Then the girl began a speech, delivering it blandly, as if for the hundredth time.  "We'll call you back if we're interested.  Please be aware that exotic dancing is a very competitive business and we may not be able to offer you a position.  Thank you very much for your interest and have a nice day."  Finished, she immediately lowered her eyes back to the glamour magazine, which she found much more interesting than Mary.

Mary turned to leave.  As she ambled through the black-painted doors back toward her car, the sunlight hit her once again and she wondered aloud to herself, "My God.  What have I just gotten myself into?"


	4. The Waiting Is the Hardest Part

Outside her apartment building, Mary dropped a couple coins into the slot to open up the newspaper box.  It couldn't hurt to look through the want-ads while she was awaiting her callback from the _Foxxy Laydee_.

Upon entering her apartment, she sat down on the floor in her unfurnished dining alcove to pore over the newspaper's offerings.  Housecleaning jobs, a nanny job, temp agencies; those were all possibilities.  Perhaps, as a pre-emptive strike, she should call one of the numbers listed in those advertisements.  That way, when and if the _Foxxy Laydee_ called back, she could answer, "I'm sorry.  I've taken a position elsewhere, and will be unable to dance at your club."  It wouldn't be breaking the pledge she had made to herself.  After all, she had only promised to apply for and get a job at the first place she approached.  The promise hadn't said anything about taking a different job before receiving an offer from that first place.

Ah, sweet loophole, an excuse not to strip in public.  Seriously, what would Mom and Dad have to say about her doing that?  Oh, they could never find out that she had applied for a job at a strip club.  It would be too much for them to handle.

On the other hand, what was there to be ashamed of?  She had a nice body, athletic, toned, and curvy in the right places; and the thought of showing it off for the first time in her life held some appeal, deep down.  Of course, she would never admit that to anyone.  But inside, she knew it was true.

She also knew how men had looked at her, ever since she had developed feminine curves.  It was impossible not to notice, because it happened so frequently:  their gawking eyes, gaping mouths, stammering self-introductions.  How, then, could she be unaware of her appeal to the opposite sex?  And so, why not use that appeal for profit?  It wasn't prostitution…technically, anyway.

After tiring of looking at the classifieds, Mary turned on her television set.  Anything to distract herself from this little ethical dilemma she was experiencing.  She flipped through all the channels, but nothing good was on.  "Stupid basic cable," she muttered as she turned the television set off.  She remembered that at the moment, she really couldn't even afford the most basic of cable packages.  Nor could she technically afford the phone service upon which she was awaiting her callback.

From her experiences living on her own in Buffalo, she knew that most bill collectors allowed a two-month grace period.  But this time around, in her new life in Fort Lauderdale, she didn't want to use the entire grace period every time she paid a bill.  And she didn't want to go around recklessly spending money she didn't have, the way she had in Glenoak.  This time, she wanted to do things the right way, and to avoid using credit as much as possible.

But to live like that, she needed money that she didn't have.  Gosh, what was taking the _Foxxy Laydee_ so long to call back?  Had it really been five hours since she turned in the job application?  Five whole hours?!  What was taking them so long?!

***

On top of being impatient, around 5:30 Mary also started getting hungry.  She had skipped lunch, and she didn't have any groceries in the house.

"I could call Reginald," she considered.  "He was definitely the cutest security guard at the airport.  Maybe he would take me out to dinner."

As she walked toward the phone, Mary caught a glimpse of her reflection in her hallway mirror.  She turned to study it more closely.  The hair, long, brown again, cascading down toward twenty-two year old cream-colored cleavage.  Pretty.  Really pretty.  How could Reginald say no?

But after a moment she frowned and scolded herself, "What am I doing?  I can't make up my mind, can I?  First I decide to be independent.  Then I decide to call a man to try to get a free dinner out of it?  That's pathetic.

"But then again, it won't be much different when I'm feeding myself from tips that guys have stuffed in my garter, will it?"

After sighing heavily and deciding against calling Reginald, Mary gathered up the small amount of money she had collected from cashing her final airline paycheck and headed for the grocery store.  She hesitated to leave, but then thought, "If the _Foxxy Laydee_ calls while I'm gone, the answering machine will get it."

***

Upon returning from her lonely, boring trip to the store, Mary felt unusually tired.  "Man, it's a pain in the butt carrying all these groceries up two flights of stairs," she thought as she trudged upward.  "I wish this place had an elevator like the apartment in Buffalo."

Eventually she reached her door.  As she tried to work her keys out of her pocket, she accidentally dropped an orange and a can of stew on the floor.  After a few moments of unsuccessfully struggling to extract her keys without dropping more groceries, a thought occurred to her.  "I bet a dancer at the _Foxxy Laydee_ could make this look sexy."

Mary devilishly glanced up and down the apartment building hallway and, seeing no one, started practicing her seductive maneuvers.  She reached down and picked up the orange she had dropped, rubbing it around her neck and then setting it directly in her cleavage.  Then she began swaying her hips back and forth, trying to slide her fingers into her pocket to reach the keys each time her hip rocked to the outside.

"What in hell's bells are you doing, young lady?" cracked a raspy voice from behind her.

Mary was so startled that she dropped all the groceries she had been holding, except for the orange in her cleavage.  She turned around to see an elderly woman looking at her scornfully.  An aged man, probably her husband, stood next to her, his jaw agape.  The woman slammed the door across the hall from Mary, leading Mary to conclude that these two people must be her neighbors.

"I…I was just trying to get my keys out of my pocket.  I…I had a handful of groceries," Mary stammered lamely, her face turning crimson with embarrassment as she plucked the orange from her chest.

"Well I thought you were a prostitute!  You looked like one of those…no-good streetwalkers," the lady shouted scornfully, and loud enough for the whole third floor to hear.

"She looked just fine to me, Doris," the grinning old man chirped.

"Oh, shut up, Harold!" the woman shouted, angrily slapping the man on his upper arm.  "Come on now, we've already missed the early bird at Denny's, you slowpoke."  She grabbed Harold's upper arm and dragged him toward the staircase.  Harold gazed back at Mary and smiled the whole way to the stairs.

"Oh my God, that old lady actually thought I was a hooker.  And her husband keeps ogling me like a cut of meat!  What am I doing?"

Shortly after they were out of view, however, Mary felt her embarrassment begin to fade away.  As she unlocked her door and picked up her groceries, a confident smile began to spread slowly across her face.

"Yup.  The old man was digging my hot moves.  I'm going to make a fortune as a dancer!"

***

After entering her apartment, Mary anxiously noticed that the message light was flashing on her answering machine.

"I can't take the suspense anymore.  Please be the _Foxxy Laydee_!  Please be the _Foxxy Laydee_!  Please be the _Foxxy Laydee_!" she whispered as she reached down and pushed the "Play" button…

"Hello.  This is a prerecorded message from your Congressman, Michael Cortez.  As you know, Election Day is coming up soon, and…BEEP!" the machine sounded loudly as Mary slammed her finger down on the "Delete" button.  Really, she had only been in Fort Lauderdale for three days and already she was getting political phone spam?  Sick.

Even more sickening, though, was the fact that she still hadn't received her callback.  However, as she began to put her groceries away, the phone started ringing.

"Hello?" Mary answered expectantly.

"Hello, may I speak to Mary Camden please?"

"This is she."

"Mary, this is Clive Randolph, the manager of the _Foxxy Laydee_.  I'm pleased to announce that we would like to offer you a position here as a dancer."

She paused to gather herself.  Momentarily, somewhere between laughter and unease, Mary found the words to accept the offer.


	5. Doing, Not Overthinking

What to wear, what to wear?  Mary nervously pondered her options as she prepared to dress for her first day on the job.  She knew, of course, that she wouldn't be wearing her own clothes for long, but she wanted to make a good first impression.  Or would it be her second, since she had already set foot in the club once to fill out the application?  Whatever.

She ended up choosing a low-riding and tight-fitting yet comfortable pair of faded blue jeans, in addition to a plain, tight white t-shirt cut just above her belly button.  Sensible yet sexy.  For breakfast she ate a fresh peach and drank a glass of skim milk.  Vitamins and calcium, sweet and tasty.

After brushing her teeth and rinsing with mouthwash, she sprayed her neck and chest with a mildly fragrant body spray.  Then she stepped outside to breathe in the morning air, and a gentle breeze greeted her at the edge of the balcony.  It was another bright, warm Florida day, almost perfect.  Maybe a cloud or two hovered in the corners of the sky, but nothing more.

After enjoying her surroundings for a moment, Mary headed downstairs and hopped into her car, wishing it were a convertible.

***

The murky darkness that greeted Mary inside the black doors and purple entryway of the _Foxxy Laydee_ shocked her again, even though it had only been a day since she had last been there.  The sunny day outside provided such a stark contrast that Mary wondered if she would ever get used to walking through those doors.

Yesterday's apathetic blond stood behind the counter once again, snapping on some chewing gum.  She looked up as Mary entered and squinted as the bright sunlight spilled in briefly.  "You're Mary Camden, right?" she asked in between gnaws.

"Right."

"I'll take you back to Clive's office.  He'll go over all the rules and regulations and whatnot, and then he'll have you sign the paperwork."

"Um, okay."

Paperwork.  Mary didn't like the sound of that.  She had had to sign all kinds of contracts and forms and such for JetBlue before they would let her start working, and she hadn't enjoyed it.  Most of the time she hadn't even understood the documents she was signing.  Maybe this time would be different.

The blond led Mary back to the corridor that wound its way behind the main stage.  It was painted blood red, but was more brightly lit than the dark purple and black interior of the club.  They walked all the way to the end of the hallway, where the blond knocked on a wooden door, painted black.

"Come in," Clive's voice issued from inside.

The blond opened the door to his office.  It was about fifteen by twelve with off-white walls.  There were windows on two of the walls, so it must have been a corner office.  Bright sunlight tried to stream in through the windows, but Clive had shut the Venetian blinds and turned on the harsh fluorescent ceiling lights instead.  He sat behind a polished wooden desk in a high-backed brown leather chair, hands behind his head and feet on the desk, looking almost like a comic-book villain who should have been puffing on a cigar and holding a moneybag.

As Mary entered the room, he stood up and shook her hand.  "Mary, glad to see you again.  Please have a seat."  He motioned to one of the two padded armchairs in front of his desk, and Mary obliged him.  Without removing his eyes from Mary he said, "Thanks, Sheba."  Sheba, the blond, exited and closed the door behind her.

"Now, let's see," he continued as he sat down again.  "I was looking at your application and it says here that you have no prior experience dancing."

"That's correct."

Clive sniffed with displeasure, furrowed his brows, and asked, "Well then, how come when I asked you yesterday if you could dance, you said you could?"

"Because, I…" Mary stammered.  "Because I just know I can dance.  I mean, I've danced before.  It's not that hard."

"Mary, you do understand," Clive continued, more than a bit condescendingly, "that exotic dancing is quite different from regular dancing, don't you?"

"Well…yeah, I guess so."  Mary could feel her face turning red with embarrassment.  She was beginning to hate these meetings in the bosses' offices.  Yesterday she had been chastised by her supervisor at JetBlue; today Clive was calling her bluff.  Clive?  Or Mr. Randolph?  Sheba had called him Clive, but maybe she was on a less formal basis with him than Mary should be….

As Mary silently pondered these insignificancies, Clive stifled a yawn and said, "Well, it won't be a problem.  We'll just set you up with one of the more experienced girls and she can mentor you for a day or two."

Whew!  That sounded like a nice solution.  Mary nodded gratefully.

"Now," Clive continued, "let's talk about the conditions of your job.  When you start out, you'll be working the daytime shift.  That's generally when guys tip the worst, because they're sober.  Plenty of them like to come in here for a nice quick titty flash during their lunch break and then leave.  There's usually not much money in that, so you'll have to work extra hard.  Once you prove you're a solid earner, though, you can move up to work the night shift.  Day shift starts at 10 AM and runs until 9 PM, but we have flexible scheduling.  You can pretty much pick whatever days and times work best for you, up to forty hours a week.  No overtime, unless we're desperate for dancers and we call you…"

Blah blah blah.  None of this stuff sounded too important to Mary, so she let her eyes and brain wander again.  She noticed that Clive wore a silver collared shirt and navy tie today; he was a snappy dresser.  She also saw that he wore a wedding band.  Mary couldn't imagine being married to a guy who managed a strip club.  The level of trust that would require was beyond anything she possessed….

"Mary?  Are you listening to me?"

"What?  Oh, of course.  I'll be working days, we open at 10 AM, flexible hours.  Got it."

Clive looked irritated.  "Right, that's what I said a couple minutes ago.  Then I mentioned that we don't open until one PM on Sundays, and I asked if working Sundays would be a problem."

"Oh."  Sundays.  Growing up, those had always been church days.  Mary pondered the irony of her dancing naked while her father might simultaneously be standing behind the pulpit, delivering an overheated sermon to the stuffy Glenoak church crowd on the west coast.  Oh, what a naughty girl she would be!  The thought made her giggle as she answered, "No, I don't have a problem working Sundays."

The giggle seemed to make Clive relax for the first time during their meeting.  "Great.  Now I'll go over our rules and procedures with you, and then we'll go over the contracts.

"First and foremost, you should know about our money system.  It's very important for you to know exactly what everything costs around here, so pay attention.  If a guy slips a one or a wad of Washingtons in your garter, he gets a smile and maybe a look or two, but that's all.  For a five, you take your top off.  For ten, take it all off.  If a guy slips you a twenty, he gets a table dance which lasts the length of one song and no more…"

Oh no.  This was no good.  There were things to remember here too, just like there had been at JetBlue.  She had forgotten the things she needed to remember there, and it had cost her job.  Would she forget them here too?  This was no good.

"…So, is our money system clear to you?"

"Um, OK wait.  Let me see if I remembered all that.  OK, one dollar is like, nothing.  Five is like, I take off my top.  Ten is like, I get naked?  Wow, that seems kind of cheap.  So, one guy gives me ten dollars and I, like, show my stuff to the whole bar?"

"Yeah, but you dance specifically in front of the guy who gave you the ten.  Pay special attention to him.  If other guys want to get a closer look, they have to come up and give you money too.  And of course, if they want a lap dance they have to give you thirty per dance."

Mary glanced at him in confusion.  "A 'lap dance'?  What's that?"

Clive looked back at her incredulously.  "Um, you're kidding right?"  Mary stared at him blankly.  "You don't even know what a lap dance is?"  She embarrassedly shook her head no, so he explained, "Well, a lap dance is just like it sounds.  You take a guy back to a private booth and dance naked, on and around his lap.  Thirty bucks for a dance the length of one song."

Mary was shocked at the concept, but surprised at the payoff.  It sounded rather distasteful, but to be paid thirty dollars for just a few short minutes' work was not bad at all.  She gulped hard and queried, "Guys will really pay thirty bucks just for a few minutes of naked dancing?"

"A lot of times they'll pay more than that, especially for a beautiful girl like you," Clive responded suavely.  "We do a four for a hundred special."

Something about the way Clive had casually slipped that compliment into business conversation made Mary inexplicably uneasy.  She decided she ought to hurry this meeting up, even though it had just started to get interesting.  "Thirty bucks, lap dance, one song; hundred bucks, four songs.  Got it.  Is that everything?  Am I ready to start working yet?"

Clive blatantly looked Mary up and down, lingering for a moment on her exposed navel, then slowly forming an apologetic smile as his eyes met hers.  He deliberately leaned back in his chair and placed his hands behind his head again, inhaling deeply.  "I think I'm starting to like you, Mary," he drawled languidly.  "You may not know much about this business, but at least you're not hesitant to get started like a lot of the other girls who come in here, afraid how they're going to be perceived by their friends and family when they take this job.  You strike me as a doer, not an over-thinker."

Mary wondered whether she should take that as an insult or a compliment.  Was he implying that she was stupid, and that stupidity would be an asset for the life she was about to begin?  Plus, he was so wrong about her "not thinking".  If he had known about all the time she had invested in selecting her wardrobe this morning, and about all the new-information-processing her brain had been attempting during this meeting, and about all the worries and insecurities that were racing through her subconscious at that very moment, he wouldn't have said that….

While she grew ever more uneasy thinking about Clive's statement, he stood up, walked toward one of the backlit window shades, and turned to face her.  Snapping back into a more business-like tone, he continued, "One more thing.  Your safety on the job is very important.  We have plenty of bouncers and security staff on hand at all times.  If a gentleman is harassing you, all you need to do is find the closest member of our staff and inform him that the guy needs to be tossed.  And there is no touching.  If anybody fondles you or gropes you or does anything else inappropriate, it's very important for you to let the staff and me know immediately.  Sometimes we need to do more than just throw the guy out."

Mary pondered that statement for a moment.  "You mean, like, rough him up or something?"

Clive smiled.  "Only if he's acting belligerently.  But I was referring to the fact that we sometimes have to press charges against people if they abuse or molest our dancers on the job."

"Oh, cool," said Mary.  Even though she didn't quite know what to make of her new boss, at least it sounded like they tried to keep the place fairly safe to work.  Heck, it couldn't be any more dangerous than flying in an airplane every day, right?  At that thought, Mary hastily offered, "Well, where do I sign?"

Clive chuckled, recalling what he had just said about her not over-thinking things.  He walked over to his desk and opened a neatly filed drawer to pull out the necessary paperwork.  Mary tried to read over the contracts carefully, especially the one that mentioned wages as percentages of tips and benefits and insurance and for some reason it all swirled when she read it and it became a blur.

"Do you have any questions about anything?" Clive asked helpfully.

"No," Mary lied, not wanting to look like a deer caught in the headlights.  After all, he liked the idea that she was a doer, not a thinker, right?  So perhaps it would be better to let him keep that perception intact.  "It looks good to me," she said.  Faking confidence, she picked up a pen from a holder atop Clive's desk and signed and dated the pages.


	6. Preparations

After Mary finished signing the papers, Clive led her back out into the red hallway.  They walked through the first door on the right beyond his office, which led into the dressing room backstage.  There, Clive paired Mary up with a pretty brown-haired dancer to begin her mentoring period.  Even in her street clothes, Mary recognized her as the captivating red-white-and-blue clad cowgirl from the day before.

"Nice to meet you, Mary.  My name is Jewell, and I've been dancing here at the _Foxxy Laydee_ for almost a year now.  So, it wasn't that long ago that I was going through my first day here, just like you."  Mary felt calmer as soon as Jewell started speaking.  She seemed friendly, and it sounded like she could relate to what Mary was going through.  "Are you nervous?" Jewell asked her.

"Yeah, a little bit," Mary nodded.  "I'm kind of excited too, though."

"I know what you mean," Jewell nodded.  "It's definitely a rush the first time you get naked on stage.  I wouldn't be too nervous about it if I were you, though.  You're a pretty enough girl that when you take your top off, guys will go nuts.  They'll love you."

"Thanks," Mary blushed and shyly turned her head away in embarrassment at the compliment.  In the process of averting her eyes, she happened to glance at a clock on the dressing room wall and mentioned, "So, I guess it's almost ten o'clock, opening time.  Do guys really come here this early in the morning?"

"Honey, you would be amazed.  I have not worked a single minute in this place when there weren't at least three guys out there in the audience dropping green for a peek.  Usually there are way more than that."

"Wow."  Mary scratched her head and wondered aloud, "Why would people come to a place like this in the middle of such a beautiful morning?  It seems like a major waste."

Jewell shrugged as if she didn't really care.  "Some people work night shifts and have to come get their jollies during the day."

"Yeah but shouldn't they, like, do their grocery shopping or take a walk in the park or something?  I mean, that's the kind of thing I do when I'm not working."

"Look, Mary," Jewell said helpfully, "let me offer you some advice, OK?  No matter how exciting or handsome or wealthy they might seem to be, it's a waste of your time to think or fantasize about the guys who come in here.  Just be nice to them, take their money, and give them what they pay for.  This is a place of business; they're customers, and we're salespeople.  There's nothing more to it than that."  Almost as an aside, she added, "Trust me.  I learned that the hard way."

"Yeah, I guess you're right," said Mary, secretly wishing for a slightly less cynical answer to her question.

"Well, let's get into wardrobe," said Jewell, perkily changing the subject.

"OK."

"Now, the hard part about the first week is that all your new outfits will come out of your first paycheck.  Still, you'll probably make more than enough to cover it."

"Wait a minute.  You mean I have to pay for my clothes with my own money?" Mary said in shock, wondering if there would be enough left over to pay for rent, electricity, and water.  

"Yeah, but you get to take them home with you if you want."

"Oh great.  What am I going to do with a half-dozen stripper outfits in my closet?" Mary asked as she rolled her eyes.

Jewell brushed her off with a giggle.  "Come on.  Let's take you over to the wardrobe closet."  She led Mary to a white door where a tall, muscular woman sat on a stool.  "Mary, this is Belinda.  She's a former dancer who runs the show backstage now.  She schedules the dancers, keeps track of tips, and she also keeps inventory backstage."  Belinda nodded expressionlessly at Mary, and Mary smiled back politely.  "She'll keep track of the items we take out of the closet today and deduct them from our paychecks."  Belinda said nothing as she unlocked the door and let the two women enter the large clothing closet.

"This room has, like, tons of new outfits, never worn before," Jewell gushed.  "You can pretty much pick one for whatever mood you're in.  Like this morning, I feel sort of playful like a kitten.  So I'm going to wear these."  She reached up to a rack full of hats and headgear to pull down a pair of cat ears that looked like part of a cheesy Halloween costume.  Then she found a black skirt and leopard-print bra, which suited her mood.  Mary modestly tried not to watch as Jewell stripped down, pulled the items off their clothes hangers, and dressed in them.  Finally, Jewell added a belt with a long feline tail as the finishing touch.

"Your turn.  Let's see, since you're a virgin, so to speak, I think we ought to dress you all pretty in white this morning," Jewell decided for Mary.  She pulled a silky, shiny white bikini off a hanger.

"Nice," said Mary, subtly trying to hide behind the door as she began to strip off the jeans and t-shirt she had painstakingly selected only a few short hours ago.  "Oh, um, just out of curiosity, where will I put my street clothes?"

"We'll get you a locker in a minute," Jewell answered as she handed Mary her brand new outfit.  "By the way, how much did you pay for those?"

"For what?" Mary asked naively as she slipped on her bikini bottom.

"Your tits.  They're incredible.  I mean, they almost look natural."

"Um," Mary stammered as her face began to flush, "They _are_ natural."

"Oh my God, shut up.  I hate you so much," Jewell teased.  "These bad boys cost me almost three grand apiece.  You can see the scars on the bottom if you look really close," she said as she lifted her bra and breasts to show off her surgery trophies.  "Totally worth it though.  I make double what I used to in tips."

Mary wondered why men would be compelled to tip twice as much to see fake breasts than the real thing.  She thought about asking Jewell for an opinion, but then thought better of it.  She assumed that, much like before, Jewell would probably just brush her off by telling her not to care.

While Mary finished dressing, Jewell found a pair of white high heels in Mary's size to match the bikini.  As she slipped the shoes on, Mary caught a glimpse of herself in a wall-height mirror.  She couldn't help but be impressed with what she saw.  In the outfit, she believed she looked more like a professional model than an exotic dancer.

Jewell led her back out of the closet, and Belinda wordlessly took note of the girls' wardrobe selections on a deduction sheet.  Belinda then handed Mary a brand new combination lock for a locker, and made another note of it.  Then Jewell led Mary to the opposite side of the dressing room, to a small area that reminded Mary of a high-school locker room.  She found Mary an empty locker large enough to fit several outfits.  Of course, Mary only had street clothes to put into hers, but she noted that Jewell's locker held several other stripper outfits, each of a varying degree of tackiness, in addition to her street clothes.

After the girls had locked up their belongings, Jewell led Mary to the makeup and hair mirrors.  "Nighttimes and weekends, we have professional hair and makeup people here," she told Mary.  "But during the off-hours – like right now – it's DIY."

"DIY?" Mary asked cluelessly.

"Do-it-yourself."

"Oh."

Jewell brushed some sparkly glitter makeup over the majority of her body, while Mary studied herself in the mirror again.  She thought she looked just fine, and didn't bother to change her hair or makeup at all.  In addition, she could still faintly smell the body spray she had put on earlier.

"Well, it's about time for the first dance of the day," the glittery Jewell said.  "Belinda will line up the first dancers to go onstage.  I'll probably be one of them.  She usually likes to put me in the first group to warm up the crowd.  You can just watch from the sidelines if you want."

"OK," Mary said with some relief.  As good as she looked, she wasn't convinced she felt ready to dance yet.

"Just check out how I do it first, and then you can give it a go," Jewell said encouragingly.

"Me?  Give it a go?" Mary gulped as Jewell trotted out of earshot.

Mary followed her to the side of the stage, where several other girls had gathered.  Belinda walked up to the crew with another clipboard and began barking directions:  "Jewell, you take left main, Sandee, you're center main, and Debra, you're right main.  The rest of you, look alive.  You'll be on in fifteen."  Mary gulped again.  Was Belinda including her when she said "the rest of you"?

As Belinda and the extras walked away, Jewell, Sandee, and Debra moved toward the stage, leaving Mary quite alone behind them.  The DJ cued the first track of the day, and then Mary heard his voice over a loudspeaker saying, "Ladies and gentlemen, the _Foxxy Laydee_ is proud to present this morning's first dancers, Sandee, Debra, and Jewell!"

"Shit, he got the order wrong.  Do you want to switch or just do it Belinda's way?" a big-eyed brunette asked Jewell and the other dancer.

"Belinda's in a pissy mood this morning.  We'd better just go out there and dance on the spots like she told us.  Let her take it up with the DJ," the other dancer, a flame-haired beauty, offered.

Mary watched as the three girls confidently took their places onstage, nervous that in only fifteen minutes, her turn might come.


	7. Jackpot

Colored lights flashed and a moderately paced beat thumped from the club speakers.

Jewell bounced.

Mary watched.

Debra and Sandee bounced too.

At first it looked like dancing was all about the bouncing.

But then Jewell wiggled.  And then she somehow managed to gracefully get face down on the floor and slither.  From her low position she juggled her cleavage in a man's face, and when she stood back up there was a piece of green paper between her breasts.  Then she was back on her feet, spinning around the stage pole.  After that, there was some more bouncing.

Bounce, wiggle, slither, juggle, stand, spin, bounce.

Next came some sexy hair tossing, and then Jewell did a split.  Mary wondered if she herself were still capable of doing a split.  She hadn't exercised much since her basketball days had ended, and she wasn't sure how flexible she would be.

Jewell somehow flipped her legs, whirled around and ended up close to the edge of the stage.  A man approached her with a folded bill in his hand, and when she saw it she took her leopard-print top off and shook her breasts in front of him.  He politely placed the bill into her garter and sat back down at his table.

Bounce, wiggle, slither, juggle, stand, spin, toss the hair, split, flip, whirl, shake.

Then Jewell twirled, daintily holding onto the pole.  The first song ended, and Mary counted that Jewell had already earned six dollars.

She and Debra and Sandee switched places onstage for the next song.  In front of a new group of gentlemen, Jewell bounced and wiggled and went through another routine.  She earned another three dollars.  And for the third song, on the other side of the stage, she made quite a bit more.

About halfway through the song, a slightly wrinkled, slightly gray forty-something man in a tan jacket and blue tie approached Jewell with a small wad of cash in his hand.  Jewell smiled and stopped her routine to approach the man.  She began talking to him, all smiles.

At the end of the song, she stroked the man's cheek and Mary could read her lips, "Wait here."  Then she approached Mary on the side of the stage and said, "Follow me."

Mary complied, following her off the stage into the club.  "Where are we going?"

"Mr. Simpson asked for – and paid for – a private dance.  So now we're going to escort him to the VIP booths."  Jewell approached Mr. Simpson and said, "Sir, this is my friend Mary.  She's new at the club and I was wondering if it would be alright if she watched me dance for you."

Mr. Simpson took one quick head-to-toe look at Mary and enthusiastically blurted, "Oh-ho, my, yes!  In fact, she can even join in if she wants to!"

Jewell laughed.  "Now, now, Mr. Simpson, Mary's new and she's kind of shy, so she's just going to watch, OK?"

Mary put on her best demure face and blinked coyly at the man.

"Oh, I love the shy ones," he responded.  "Are you sure you won't dance with her, Mary?"

Mary shook her head back and forth timidly.

"I'll give you a hundred dollars if you both dance together."

"OK, I'll dance with her."

Jewell, slightly taken aback, whispered to Mary, "You don't have to do this if you don't feel ready."

Mary looked into Jewell's eyes and, with firm resolve, said, "Honey, for a hundred bucks?  I'm ready."

As the ladies led Mr. Simpson to the VIP booths by hand, Mary took a moment to reflect upon her feelings.  She didn't feel too nervous.  It wasn't a stage dance, so there wouldn't be too many people to boo or ignore her.  Plus Mr. Simpson seemed like he was going to be an easy audience, and Jewell would be there to help her if she needed it.  Everything felt right.

They reached the booth, and Mary noticed that a firmly built bouncer stood at the entrance to the VIP area in case anything got out of hand.  It was reassuring to know that Clive had not been lying to her about security.

Jewell gently pushed Mr. Simpson down into the seat of the booth.  Her top was still off from the stage dancing, so she juggled her breasts in his face for a bit, squeezing each one tenderly.  Then she carefully grabbed Mary's hand and led her into the booth.  The two danced playfully for a bit, spinning each other around and laughing like schoolgirls.  Mr. Simpson looked as if he were enjoying every nanosecond of their girlish, giggling giddiness.

Then Mary fell into Jewell's arms, and Jewell whispered, "I'm going to take your top off now."  Mary swallowed and nodded, and suddenly she could feel air breezing across her chest.  Jewell stood Mary upright again and asked Mr. Simpson, "So, do you like what you see?"

"Oh, yes!" he nodded enthusiastically.

"Well, I need the rest of the hundred dollars from you now.  Would you like to pay cash or credit card?"

"I've got the money right here," he waved a wad of bills in front of Jewell.  She took it and counted it.  Satisfied, she stuffed it into her garter.  Mary was impressed at how Jewell had gone from play to business faster than fingers could snap.

"Now, normally, a hundred would get you four private dances, but since there's two of us we're only going to do two.  Is that OK?"

"That's fine," Mr. Simpson nodded.

"Alright, just remember to keep your hands by your side at all times.  Here goes!"

The song playing at the time sounded familiar to Mary.  It might have been by Christina Aguilera or one of those types of singers.  Whatever it was, it had a good beat for dancing, and Mary found herself shaking back and forth quite naturally to the rhythm.

"Oh yeah, look at my girl go!" Jewell shouted with glee.  Then she joined forces with Mary and the two bounced and shook together.

About halfway through the song, Jewell moved away from Mary toward Mr. Simpson.  She placed her arms on the booth above his head so that her breasts were directly in his face, then she began gyrating her crotch onto his chest, occasionally bouncing it down toward his lap.  Mr. Simpson looked like he was in heaven.

Unsure if she should join in, Mary continued to bounce.  She realized, however, that Mr. Simpson's attention had been completely diverted from her onto Jewell.  Feeling like she probably ought to start earning her half of the money, Mary stepped up behind Jewell, put her hands atop the booth next to Jewell's, and then began bouncing on Mr. Simpson's knee.  A blissful laugh escaped the man's lips.

Before Mary knew what was happening, Jewell reached behind Mary's neck and guided her face in for a kiss.

"Oh my God, this is incredible!" Mr. Simpson shouted, having just witnessed the girl-girl kiss from inches away.

Mary pulled back from the others and, trying not to look phased, started bouncing again behind Jewell.  Meanwhile Jewell began bouncing up and down atop Mr. Simpson even more vigorously than before.  Then she stood up, turned around, and tickled his crotch with her fake cat tail.  This was becoming too much for Mary, who bounced further and further away from Jewell and Mr. Simpson.  After all, dancing was one thing, but crotch rubbing and lesbian kissing were another entirely.

Next, Jewell began to slowly lift her black skirt to expose her panty-less ass to Mr. Simpson.  The man looked like he was about to jump from his seat to find the nearest cold shower.

Mary noticed that the song had changed to an upbeat dance club-style song.

Jewell began slapping her ass in front of Mr. Simpson to the beat of the song.

Standing in the shadows of the booth, Mary stopped moving almost completely without realizing it.

Meanwhile Jewell went for broke and dropped her skirt to the floor.

Mr. Simpson turned his eyes to the ceiling, as if thanking a higher power.

"You want to give him a dance too, girl?" Jewell encouragingly asked Mary.

"I don't know," Mary answered with a queasy feeling in her stomach.  She folded her arms across her cold, exposed breasts.

"It's OK," said Jewell nonchalantly.  "He's not going to hurt you.  Go ahead."  Jewell gently grabbed one of Mary's hands and led her over to Mr. Simpson.  "Just dance in front of him a little."

"OK."  Mary started to move her hips a little bit to the beat.

"I like that," said Mr. Simpson encouragingly.  "I like that a lot."

"Yeah?" Mary asked.

Mr. Simpson nodded reassuringly.  "Keep moving.  Don't stop."

"OK."  Mary turned around and vigorously shook her bottom in his face for a bit.

"I like that too!"

"How about this?" Emboldened by the man's encouragement, Mary jumped up onto the seat of the booth, placing one foot on each side of his lap.  Her bikini bottom was at his nose level, but his gaze was directed straight up at her face, her beautiful silky hair, and her ample exposed bosoms.

Mary found the strength within herself to grab the top of the booth for support, drop down, then bob up, then drop down again, repeating with every other beat, and putting on quite a show for the man.

"Alright, Mary!  Work it girl!" Jewell screamed.  Then she began smacking Mary's ass to the beat.  Mary was a bit less surprised by Jewell's antics this time, and she decided not to let them bother her in front of their customer.  But she also decided that she would definitely have some words with the girl later, in private.

Soon, Jewell joined Mary atop the seat of the booth, and the two danced the rest of the song inches away from the man's face.

Then, in an instant, the song ended and Jewell put her clothes back on, politely thanking Mr. Simpson and pointing him to the exit of the VIP area.  Mary couldn't believe how everything had happened so quickly.

"Woo hoo!  Girl, you got your first lap dance, and you earned fifty in your first twenty minutes on the job!"  Jewell picked up Mary's bikini top and twirled it in the air to celebrate the occasion, shouting another woo-hoo in the process.

"Well," Mary thought out loud.  "That was pretty wild."

"Honey," said Jewell, leaning in close to Mary.  "You ain't seen _nothing_ yet."


	8. Training Day

"Time to cash out our first set," Jewell told Mary, leading the way from the VIP booths toward the backstage area.

"What's 'cashing out'?"

"We give our tips to Belinda.  She keeps a running count of how much each of us makes every day.  Then she enters it all into some computer program thingy, and it calculates how much we get paid at the end of the week."

"Oh.  OK."  The phrase 'wages as percentages of tips' flashed through Mary's mind and reminded her of the contract she had signed earlier that morning.  "Hey, Jewell?"

"Yeah?"

"I have a confession to make."

"What's that?"

"When I signed my contract to work here, I didn't really read it first.  Well, I mean, I tried to read it, but I just couldn't follow it.  Is that bad?"

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about it too much if I were you.  I'm pretty sure the _Foxxy Laydee_ has a standard new employee contract, and every girl I know who's signed it and stayed here for any length of time has ended up making good money."

Mary exhaled with relief, but she still had a mild case of butterflies from wondering what her paycheck would really look like at the end of the week – especially since it would be a short week.

***

The girls found Belinda backstage, and Jewell handed the woman her take.

"Private dance already?" Belinda beamed at Jewell.

"Yup," Jewell bounced and clapped.

"Excellent.  Go fix your hair, you'll be back onstage for the next set."

Then Mary approached Belinda with her fifty dollars.

"What's this?" Belinda frowned.

"It's my take," Mary answered.

"But you haven't even danced yet."

"Oh yes she has!" Jewell stepped in.  "She shared the private dance with me."

Belinda glared at Mary for a moment, then reluctantly took the fifty and penciled in some numbers on her clipboard.

"What's her problem?" Mary asked Jewell when they were outside of Belinda's earshot.

"Don't mind her, she's just old school.  She's got the older dancers' backs, but she usually cops an attitude toward the new ones.  So she probably thought you were cutting in on my take when you shared the dance with me, and that kind of thing pisses her off.  She won't act like such a bitch once she's gotten to know and trust you, though."

Mary gulped, but Jewell didn't notice as she had begun walking back to the mirrors to inspect herself.  Mary followed and sat down beside her.  As Jewell pulled a brush through her hair, Mary's mind wandered back to the moment earlier that morning when Belinda had announced, "You'll be on in fifteen."

"Jewell, when will I have to start dancing on stage?"

She set her brush down and turned to face Mary.  "Whenever you're ready, honey.  No one's trying to rush you."

"But if I don't dance, then I won't make any tips.  And if I don't make any tips, then I won't get paid, right?"

Jewell comfortingly placed a hand on Mary's.  "Well, yeah, that's kind of how it works, sweetie.  But don't worry.  When you're ready to go on, you'll know.  In the meantime, just watch and learn from the other girls and me.  I'll be on for the next set of songs if you want to hang side-stage again."

Mary looked down at Jewell's hand atop her own and figured now would be as good a time as any to talk about the other thing that was bothering her.  "Listen, Jewell, about what happened back there in the VIP booth."  She paused as words and courage began to fail her.

"What about it?" Jewell prompted her.

"It's just that, well, I'm not a lesbian."

"What?"  Jewell laughed and resumed brushing her hair.  "When did I ever say you were?"

"You didn't.  But, um, when you kissed me and slapped my butt, I thought it was kind of…I don't know.  A bit much?"

"Did I overstep my bounds?"

Mary scrunched up her face and nodded.  "Just a little."

Jewell sighed.  "I guess I should have warned you; when a guy asks me for a VIP dance I go all out.  I figure he's paying a lot of money for it, so I might as well give him the fantasy he deserves.  You know what I mean?  Like, when that guy goes home this afternoon and jerks off, he's going to be having all kinds of crazy visions of you and me, when all I really did was kiss you and spank you a little bit.  I say what's the harm in that?  But if you weren't ready for it then that was my bad.  I should have prepped you better."

Mary searched for the right words for a moment.  "I guess I'm not really mad at you.  I just don't want it to happen again is all."

Jewell put the brush down again and looked at her.  "So what are you saying?  You don't want to do any more private dances with me?"

"No, not that.  Just, no more kissing and spanking.  OK?"

Jewell looked away.  "Mary, I'm not sure if I can promise that.  Like I said, I act pretty wild in the booths.  Either you'll have to accept that about me or we won't be able to dance together."

Mary chewed on her bottom lip and thought about the quick fifty she had just made with Jewell's help.  Then she thought for a minute about how uncomfortable the kiss and the butt-slapping had made her.  Somewhere between the two extremes, her brain found a compromise.  She brightened as she said, "Ooh, OK then, how about this?  We can still do booth dances together.  But if you start to get wild with me, we'll split the take 60/40 in my favor instead of 50/50."

Jewell shook her head no.  "Belinda would never go for that, and neither would I.  Look, it's no skin off my back if you don't want to dance with me anymore, Mary."

The corners of Mary's mouth turned down as she nodded.  "Fine."

Jewell faced her again, and Mary could have sworn she detected disappointment in the dancer's eyes.  "Mary, listen, I hate to sound negative, but maybe this just isn't the business for you after all."

"What?"

"Don't get me wrong.  From what I saw in the booth, I think you have a lot of promise as a dancer.  But to make money in this business, you have to be willing to go all out.  Really sell the fantasy to make the extra dollar.  If you're not willing to do that, then you'll get stuck making lousy tips on day shift for the rest of your career.  And it'll probably end up being a short career at that."

Dumbstruck, Mary simply responded, "Oh."  As the words slowly sank in, a question formed in Mary's mind.  "Jewell?"

"Yeah?"

"If you're so good at 'selling the fantasy', and if day shift is so bad for tips, then how come you've been working day shift lately?"  Oops.  She hadn't really meant for it to sound that nasty, but it was too late to take it back.

"I've been subbing for my friend, Corinne.  She's really sick, OK?"  Jewell sounded defensive.  Trying to change the subject, she sharply added, "Besides, normally I only work Thursday, Friday, and Saturday nights.  I've been working that schedule for about nine months now, because I made enough money in my first three months on day shift to set me for the whole year."

Mary felt eviscerated by Jewell's tone.  She lowered her voice and humbly said, "Oh.  So you really know what you're talking about, then?"

Jewell nodded.  "Trust me, Mary.  You're hot enough and you've got the moves.  If you lose all your inhibitions, you'll have a good shot to make a killing too."

Mary sighed and reluctantly said, "Fine.  I'll try to loosen up some.  So, from here on out, feel free to slap my ass and call me Susan."

Jewell laughed.  "Excellent!  Hey, that reminds me, you need a stage name.  Mary's fine if you want to stick with it, but Susan would make for a nice little in-joke.  How about Susie Screwdriver?"

Mary grimaced.  "How about not.  I'll think about it while you're dancing."

"Cool."

***

Mary watched Jewell do several more sets, helping her fix her hair, reapply body glitter, and change her costume in between.  She tried to observe her as astutely as possible, both during and between sets:  off-stage, what did she focus on?  Hair, costume, make-up, and perfume; that much was simple.  The more complex issue was her on-stage behavior.  How did she move?  What were the subtle things she did to look sexier, more appealing…more worthy of cash…than the other girls?  Mary watched intently, trying to answer these questions, really putting forth an effort to learn unlike she had done with any of her previous jobs.

Initially, one thing that stood out to Mary was Jewell's smile.  Some of the other girls looked very serious about their dancing, but Jewell always seemed to wear a smile as if she were really enjoying herself.  And, other than the dark-skinned girl with the giant bazoombas, Jewell appeared to be earning more tips than all the daytime dancers.  Maybe there was some appeal to smiling that the other girls just didn't know about.

Then again, some of the other girls smiled too.  So perhaps there was more to Jewell's allure and earning power than just her smile.  Upon further inspection, Mary noticed that she also seemed to have a level of playfulness that the other dancers didn't quite match.  There was an extra bounce in every step, a brighter twinkle in each eye than the other dancers put forth:  energy and attitude, uninhibited.

So, having carefully observed Jewell all morning, Mary concluded that that was what she would focus on when she danced:  energy and attitude, uninhibited.  And, having reached this conclusion, Mary decided she was finally ready to dance on-stage, with the brand new stage-name she had come up with.


	9. Ups and Downs

Noon drew closer, and the backstage area filled up with shapely women.  Jewell bounced offstage and greeted Mary after her latest set.

"It's getting crowded back here," Mary observed.

"Lunchtime, this place turns into a zoo.  Every day lots of guys come here for 'business lunch', so a lot of dancers come in part-time from noon until two," Jewell explained.

The extra dancers looked like a security blanket to Mary.  If so many other girls would be on-stage at the same time as her, there would be less chance that Mary would get singled out and jeered if she did a bad job at first.  This looked like the right time to step forward.

"Jewell, I think I'm ready to go on."

"Really?  Rock on, sister!  Let's go pass the news on to Belinda.  Did you come up with a stage name yet?"

"I sure did."

"Lay it on me."

"Virgin Mary."

Jewell's head snapped back a bit in surprise.  She pondered the name then said, "Isn't that, like, a little bit sacrilegious?"

"No, not '_The_ Virgin Mary', just 'Virgin Mary'," Mary clarified.  Jewell shot her another skeptical look, so she continued, "Look, Mary is my given name.  And you said it yourself this morning when we were picking costumes; you gave me white to wear because I'm a 'virgin' dancer.  Besides, even if the name were a little bit blasphemous, what guy coming in here would care?"

"You would be surprised, honey.  I've seen very religious guys and even men of the cloth in here before.  With a stage name like 'Virgin Mary', it might be hard to get tips from the super-religious ones."

"Or, it might be extremely easy.  After all, what good Christian doesn't absolutely adore the Madonna?  With a name like that, how could they not fall at my feet?"

Jewell shrugged and conceded, "Well, whatever.  It's your call.  Let's go tell her royal highness."

The girls approached Belinda, and Jewell shared the news that Mary wanted to take the stage.

"'Bout time," Belinda gruffly intoned.  "Gimme your stage name so I can pass it on to the deejay."

"Virgin Mary."

Belinda shot her a nasty eye, begrudgingly grunting, "Well, I guess it's better than 'Bloody Mary'.  You'll be on center stage three."

"OK," Mary nodded graciously.  Then, lowering her voice so Belinda wouldn't hear her, she turned to Jewell and asked, "Where's center stage three?"

Jewell made a sour face.  "It's the crappiest stage for tips – the one farthest away from any of the bars, on the far side of the club.  It figures that Belinda would start you out there, but no worries.  Just follow me."

Mary followed her down a hidden backstage hallway to a side-stage area smaller than the one from which she had watched Jewell dance earlier.  Two other dancers stood there, a blond who hardly looked a day over twenty-one and a muscular, older-looking brunette.  Mary felt fairly confident that the blond was the girl she had observed dancing in the Catholic school outfit the day before.

Jewell made the introductions.  "Mary, this is Cynthia and Babs.  Girls, meet Mary.  She's about to do her first stage dance."

The blond, Cynthia, made an excited face.  "No way!  I just did my first dance last week.  This is so exciting!"

Babs rolled her eyes.  "Dammit, Jewell, why do they keep sticking me with these newcomers?  It makes me look bad.  At this rate, I'll never get off stage three."

"Not with that attitude you won't," Jewell spat at her.

Mary detected some open hostility and decided not to step between Jewell and Babs.  Instead she turned to Cynthia and asked, "Could you do me a huge favor?  If I do anything stupid, would you please tell me?"

Cynthia smiled.  "Don't worry, you'll do just fine.  And if you need any help I'll be dancing right next to you."

"And I'll be offstage left," Jewell added.

Mary breathed a sigh of relief.  But before she could get too comfortable, the deejay's voice came over the loudspeaker.  "Gentlemen, welcome to lunch hour at the _Foxxy Laydee_!  Please give a big hand to our dancers on stage four, Icy, Blondie, and Finola!"  From offstage, Mary could hear applause and catcalls from men in the club.

"Next, give it up for our stage three dancers.  We've got one of your favorites, Babs, as well as newcomers Virgin Mary and Cynthia Sweetheart!"  Mary froze like a deer caught in headlights.

"That's your cue!"  Jewell shouted, giving Mary a gentle shove.  "Go on!"

Mary stumbled onstage and found her mark between Babs and Cynthia.  The deejay announced the dancers on stages two and one, but Mary heard none of it as she stood on the stage, transfixed by the spotlight.

"Mary," Cynthia's voice seemed to come from out of nowhere.  "You can start dancing now!"

Her ears suddenly picked up a song with a mid-tempo, rolling bass beat emanating from unseen speakers nearby.  She quickly recognized it as the R&B song "Independent Women" from the _Charlie's Angels_ soundtrack, which she figured was as good a song as any to start off with.  She began to shake her ass just a little bit, and then she turned around to show it off to the rest of the club.

"Oh yeah!" she heard a male voice from behind her.  She had no way of knowing whether the man was looking at her when he shouted it, but regardless it inspired her to shake a little bit harder.

Then she bent over and grabbed her heels, continuing to shake her money-maker.  "C'mere honey, I got somethin' for ya!" she heard from the edge of the stage.  From her upside-down position she saw a shaved-headed twenty-something man waving a bill in her general direction.  She lifted her torso upright and stood again, then bounced to the front of the stage to accept the money with a smile.

"Oh no you don't," the man pulled the money away.  "This is for her!" he nodded in Cynthia's direction.

"Aw, thanks, darling!" Cynthia said sweetly as she accepted the five from the man and unceremoniously removed her top.  She then leaned down to shake her modest, pointy breasts inches away from his face.

"Woo yeah!" the man yelped, waving his arms a bit in celebration and spilling some beer from the bottle in his right hand.

Dejectedly, and with more than a bit of embarrassment, Mary backed away from front stage and continued to bounce with as much enthusiasm as she could still muster.  The spotlight took a brief break from blinding her, and she glanced around the club.  Most men's attentions were focused on the main stage, where six dancers now commanded attention.  However, about eight men sat in front of stage three enjoying Babs, Cynthia, and her.

"_Well, one guy shot me down, but there are still seven to go._"

She smiled at a table where three men sat drinking Coronas.  One of the men smiled back and nodded at her.  She wiggled closer to their table, putting some extra bounce into her chest as she advanced.

"_What would Jewell do?_"

Mary began tossing her hair a bit.  Then she turned around, put her hands on her knees, and dropped and raised her rear end repeatedly as if it had a spring under it.  She looked behind her to gauge the table's reaction and realized that the man who had smiled at her was trying to put a dollar in her bikini strap.  He was having difficulty, much to her chagrin, because she was shaking so fast.

"Sorry," she said as she slowed down and stuck her hip out for him to tip her.

"That's okay," he said in a mild-mannered voice.  "We were kind of enjoying the show."

"Oh, thank you," Mary said sweetly as she turned around to face him.  "You know, that's my first tip."

"No way.  You look like you've done this before."

"Well, I did a private dance earlier, but that's different.  It was a lot easier."

"Oh yeah?  Maybe my friends and me will ask for a private dance later on."

Mary smiled.  "I'd like that.  I'll check back with you after I'm done with this set."

"OK," the man said before returning to his seat.

Mary felt a sudden surge of confidence as she backed up and started dancing again.  She had just earned her first dollar on-stage, and it had been all her own doing.  Jewell, her security blanket in the booth, had not even needed to help her this time.

"_I _can_ do this after all.  I am _doing this._"_

For the rest of her three-song set, Mary bounced, shook, and thrust her way to five more dollars in tips.  At the end of the set she, Cyntha, Babs, and Jewell convened off-stage.

"Way to go, Mary.  You were really putting it out there," Jewell congratulated her and handed her a towel to dab off perspiration.

"Yeah," said a still-topless Cynthia.  "I was afraid you were going to end up stealing away all my tips."

"Bitches," Babs hissed spitefully as she turned to walk back down the corridor toward the dressing room, leaving the girls behind her.  However, instead of hating her for being so nasty, Mary felt sorry for her as she noticed a complete absence of dollars from Babs' garter.

"Man, it must suck to be all washed up like her," Cynthia said nodding in Babs' direction.

"Washed up?  But she doesn't look like she could be much older than thirty," Mary said.

"Honey, in this business?  Thirty is ancient," said Jewell.  "And plus, she's just as nasty to the customers as she is to us.  I don't know what makes her think they'll tip her with an attitude like that."

"Yeah, but I saw you talking to that first guy who tipped you, Mary.  You were so sweet to him; you had just the perfect attitude.  Most guys don't like to be intimidated," said Cynthia.

"Oh yeah, I almost forgot about that guy!  He told me he and his friends might want a private dance."

"Really?"  Jewell looked excited.  "Well what are you standing around here yapping with us for?  Go on out there and get 'em!"

"OK!"

Mary hustled down the corridor and out into the club area, but was disappointed at what she found in front of stage three.  The men who had been potentially interested in a private dance were gone, their half-empty bottles of Coronas the only reminders that they had ever been there at all.


	10. Lunchtime

"Mary!" a familiar voice bellowed from behind her.  She turned to see Clive waving at her.

"Hey."  She smiled to mask her disappointment at having been stood up by her potential customers.

"Belinda told me you were going out for your first stage dance, so I came and watched."

"What did you think?"

"Nice work, but I have just a couple suggestions.  You might want to slow it down a bit.   You seemed to be trying just a little too hard.  Also, try to dance closer to the front of the stage.  That makes it easier for the guys to approach you with their money."

"OK.  I'll work on trying to do those things."

"Great," Clive nodded and smiled.  "Say, I'm about to go to lunch.  Would you and Jewell like to join me?  My treat."

"Well, I know I'm hungry, but I can't speak for Jewell.  I'll go ask her."

Clive nodded again.  "I'll meet you in the entryway."

Mary found Jewell backstage, and she agreed to go to lunch with them.  The two girls changed into their street clothes and met Clive in the entryway, where Sheba was filing her nails and snapping gum behind the counter as usual.

"Hey, baby," Clive said as Jewell approached.  He casually wrapped his right arm around her and placed his hand on her left buttock.

"Hey, baby, yourself," Jewell responded as she leaned in to kiss him.

"_I knew it!"  Mary thought.  "__I just knew_ there was something wrong and skeevy about that guy.  So _that's _what kind of a manager he is.  Well no way will I ever let him put a hand on me…_"_

Out of the corner of his eye, Clive noticed the suspicious look on Mary's face.  He pulled away from Jewell and said, "Mary, I think I forgot to mention something to you earlier.  Jewell is my wife."  He held up his wedding band and flashed a proud smile.

"_A married stripper?  Her husband lets her dance naked?"  Unable to contain her surprise, Mary felt her eyes widen and her jaw drop.  "But…but where's your wedding ring?" she stammered at Jewell._

"Oh, honey, please," Jewell laughed.  "Do you think I'd make nearly as much in tips if guys knew I was married?  Remember what I said.  It's all about selling the fantasy.  The customers in here don't want to think about me going home to another man, so I lose the ring whenever I dress to go on stage."

"Such a savvy little vixen, isn't she?" Clive beamed at his wife and played with her earlobe.  "You see why I love her?"  Not even waiting to gauge Mary's response, he abruptly turned to the receptionist and said, "Sheba, we're going to lunch.  I'll be back in forty-five minutes or so."

Sheba waved her nail file in acknowledgement without bothering to look up.

***

As she plopped into the toasty but comfortable leather backseat of Clive's black BMW, Mary felt somewhat relieved.  At least now her fears about Jewell being attracted to her had been proven unfounded.  She still wasn't so sure about Clive, though.  If he had fallen for one of his dancers, then what would keep him from falling for any other one who came along?

Such questions raced through her mind as Clive sped down the boulevard.  "So, um, how did you guys meet and decide to get married and all that?" she eventually asked.

"Long story short, I met her at FMU.  I was studying for my MBA and she was an underclassman in one of my classes.  After I got certified, I accepted the job managing the _Foxxy Laydee_.  We married shortly after.  Then when I told her how much money the dancers made, she decided to take a job there too."

"I'm still working on my degree, though," Jewell added.  "I'd really like to become a personal financial advisor after I graduate.  After all, this dancing thing won't last forever."

Mary was surprised by every new revelation.  "_She started dancing _after _they got married?  She's in college, studying to be a financial advisor?  I never would have guessed it."_

"What about you, Mary?  What's your story?" Clive asked.

Mary wondered how much she should actually tell them.  What would they think of her if they knew about her religious upbringing?  How would they judge her dropping out of college to become a firefighter?  What would they think if they found out she had been fired from her most recent job due to incompetence?

"Um, not much to tell, really.  I just moved to Fort Lauderdale a week or so ago for work.  But then the job didn't work out.  So now I'm dancing."  A nice, guarded answer.

"What kind of job was it?" Jewell asked.

"Flight attendant."  No need to share any more.

"Where did you move here from, Mary?" Clive asked.

"Glenoak, California.  That's where my family lives, and where I grew up."  Just enough information, just the bare minimum.

"_I wish they all could be California girls…" Clive sang cheesily._

"Shut up!  You know I'm a Florida girl, born and raised." Jewell slapped his arm gently to scold him without disturbing his driving.  Then she turned back to Mary and said, "I've lived here my whole life.  Love it here!  It's so close to the beach, and it's got all the Latin influence everywhere.  And the weather's just gorgeous.  I wouldn't want to live anywhere else."

"It is nice here," Mary acknowledged.  "_Hmm.  If she's lived here her whole life, that must mean her family lives here too.  I wonder how she hides the fact that she's dancing at the Foxxy Laydee _from them.  I'm going to have a hard enough time doing it myself, and my family lives clear across the country._"_

Clive pulled into a parking space in front of a small, green-roofed Japanese restaurant.  "Here we are.  Do you like sushi, Mary?"

Mary thought for a minute.  "I don't know.  I've never had it before, but…I guess I'll try anything once."

***

Mary could tell from the way Clive and Jewell grinningly observed her that her attempts to eat sushi were providing quite a spectacle.  After accidentally dropping her first piece into the wasabi on three separate occasions, she gave up on trying to use chopsticks to eat her tuna, or "maguro" as it was called.  She asked a waiter for a fork instead.  Then, when she finally got the piece of fish into her mouth, she found it quite difficult to chew and swallow.  It was fairly tasty, but its rubbery texture was unlike that of any food she had ever eaten before.  Then the heat from the excess wasabi registered on her tongue, and Clive and Jewell laughed at her watering eyes.

"Wow.  It's…interesting," she managed after finally swallowing her first bite.  "Tastes unusual."

"It takes some getting used to," Clive reassured her.  "I can't believe you're from California and you've never eaten sushi before, though.  I thought everyone out there ate sushi."

"Well, my family has never been into the 'California lifestyle'.  They're not exactly what I would call trendsetters, or trend-followers for that matter.  They kind of march to their own beat.  And besides, with as many kids as we had in the family, we usually had to agree on meals that everyone would eat, and sushi would not have been on that list."  Mary smiled as she imagined Ruthie trying not to spit out a piece of wasabi-covered maguro.

"You come from a big family?" Jewell asked.

"What?" Mary snapped out of her reverie and remembered that she didn't really want to talk about her home life.  Not here, not now.  But it was probably too late.  She had already said more than she needed to, and she couldn't think of a good way to get around Jewell's question.

"Depends on your concept of big, I guess."  Would that work?

"How many brothers and sisters?"

Nope.  Too late to get out of it.  Mary sighed and answered, "One older brother, three younger brothers, two younger sisters."

Not surprisingly, Jewell's eyes bugged out.  Mary was used to this kind of reaction when she told people about her family size.  "Wow, I'm so jealous.  I was an only child, and so was Clive."

"Yeah, well, there were times when I would have killed to be an only child."

"But I bet there were more times when you were glad you weren't," Jewell said with a hint of regret.

Mary smiled wistfully as she thought about Matt and all the times he had looked out for her, Lucy and all the times they had shared together in their old room, Simon, Ruthie, and the twins and all the mischievous, youthful trouble they used to get themselves into.  "You're right." 

Trying to distract herself from all the introspection, Mary returned to her maguro.  As she gently dipped the fish into her wasabi, she remembered the question she had been dying to ask Jewell – whether or not her parents knew about her job.  "So, do your parents still live here in Fort Lauderdale?"

"My father passed away a couple years ago, but my mother still works here as a high-school art teacher."

"Gosh, I'm sorry to hear about your father."  After a respectful pause, Mary continued, "So…does your mother know what you do for a living?"

"Oh yeah.  We tell each other everything.  She had her reservations at first, but now she doesn't mind what I'm doing at all.  Of course, it helps a lot that she knows how trustworthy my boss is."  Jewell winked across the table at Clive.

Clive smiled back at Jewell and then turned to Mary.  "I'm guessing, with your family thousands of miles away and all, that you haven't told them about your job yet."

"No, I haven't, and I don't think I ever will."

Clive shrugged.  "You're an adult.  That's up to you."

Mary nodded, but a strange sense came over her.  "You're an adult," Clive had just said.  Had anyone ever said that to her before?  Perhaps.  She couldn't really remember.  But even if so, had anyone really treated her like one until now?  Not Wilson, not her siblings, certainly not her parents.  Even Ben and Captain Jack had treated her like she was incapable of making her own decisions.

Was she really capable, though?  After all, it had been Robbie who had talked her into breaking up with Captain Jack, even though she knew now that it had been the right thing to do.

But no one had talked her into the dancing job.  That had been all her idea.  A crazy, spontaneous one, but her own idea nonetheless.  And a very adult one at that.

"Mary?  Mary, what's the matter?  You're not touching your maguro.  You don't like it, do you?" Clive sounded disappointed.

"Oh, no, it's pretty good, actually.  I was just spacing out for a minute."  She took another bite, savoring the exotic flavor of the fish, as well as the spicy kick of the wasabi.  The taste was new to her, but indeed, it was pretty good.


	11. Moments of Vulnerability

The group finished lunch and returned to the _Foxxy Laydee_, where the girls changed back into their dancing costumes backstage.  Before returning to the showroom, Jewell offered to keep helping Mary.  "If you want, we can ask Belinda to pair you and me up on stage.  Or I can stand just off-stage during your sets if you like."

Mary knew she would have to start dancing on her own sooner or later, so she shook her head.  "That's OK.  I think I'm going to be alright.  Just give me some advice offstage if you see me doing anything stupid."

***

She danced every other set for the rest of the afternoon, doing her best to project energy and enthusiasm.  Some sets went better than others.  Fortunately, she made at least a few dollars during each one.

Surprisingly, Mary found that the topless dances didn't bother her much, perhaps because none of them wound up being as extreme as the private one she had performed with Jewell earlier in the morning.  Just a little bit of bouncing and cavorting was all that the job required.

However, around two o' clock, a gentleman handed Mary a ten while she was on-stage.  It was the first time she had been required to publicly remove her bikini bottom.

She realized that she hadn't mentally prepared herself for the moment, and an intense wave of self-consciousness swept over her.  For a moment, she couldn't help but look around at the other girls and notice how much more attractively shaven and groomed their private areas looked compared to hers.

But then, like a trooper, she took her bikini off and continued dancing.  The man who had tipped her did not look disappointed.  For his benefit, Mary even tried to smile and look like she was enjoying it.  But she wasn't.  She held her emotions together long enough to finish the set.  Then she ran offstage to the locker area and hid her eyes in her hands.

Stupid.  She had known from the start that it would be part of the job.  Why did this upset her so much?

Perhaps because it was the first time in her adult life that a man had ever seen that most private part of her?  All those idealistic notions – of waiting to be with the man she married, sharing herself only with him – gone.

But she hadn't physically shared herself with anyone.  Just visually.  Did that count?  Should it?

Why did this have to get so confusing all of a sudden?  Things had been going just fine.

"Mary, is that you?  What's wrong?"  For the first time all day, Jewell's voice was not a welcome sound; Mary just wanted to be alone.

"I'm fine." She pushed the words out between sniffles.

"You don't sound fine.  Did something happen out there?"

"No.  It's no big deal, really."

"Well, why are you crying?"

For a brief moment, Mary considered telling Jewell the full truth, but a much better half-truth occurred to her.  "It's so stupid, Jewell.  It's just that, I was out there dancing completely naked and I realized how much prettier the other girls' stuff looked than mine.  I haven't done anything to make mine look attractive and I got so embarrassed…."  She disintegrated into a whole new round of tears, which were only partially forced.

Jewell soothingly patted Mary's back.  "Aw, honey, don't you worry about a thing.  I'll set you up at my beauty salon tonight for a bikini wax."

Mary looked up at her with tears still shimmering in her eyes.  "I don't think I can afford that."

"Well, I realize you're just starting out, so I'll take care of it."

Mary shook her head.  "I can't do that.  You and Clive already bought me lunch."

"Don't worry about it, sweetie.  You can pay me back after you get your first paycheck.  I know you'll be good for it."

Mary reluctantly nodded.  "OK.  Thank you."

"No problem.  Now go clean yourself up.  I'm pretty sure you're supposed to be dancing for the next set."

***

After completing the rest of her afternoon shift without further incident, Mary cashed out for the day.  Belinda calculated her final total and muttered, "Not bad for your first day out, rookie.  You working tomorrow?"

Mary nodded.

"See you at ten AM sharp, then," Belinda grunted as she returned to counting money piles.

Mary smiled and headed for the lockers.  She found Jewell getting dressed there.

"So, you survived your first day."  She smiled warmly at Mary.

"Yup.  I made it," Mary said as she unlocked and opened her locker.

"Congratulations!  We should go out and celebrate later."

Mary frowned.  She didn't want to admit to Jewell that she didn't drink, so she fell back on the money excuse.  "I really can't afford to celebrate anything yet.  Maybe we'll celebrate my first paycheck instead."

Jewell chuckled.  "Fair enough.  That reminds me, I gave you the address of my beauty salon, right?"

Mary nodded as she pulled her street clothes from the locker and set them on the bench.

Jewell dug in her purse and extracted a wad of money.  "Here's a hundred bucks for you to spend there as you see fit."

She handed the money to Mary, who stared at it with a blank expression rather than thanking her for it.

After an awkward pause, Jewell shrugged and said, "Well, I guess I'll see you tomorrow."  She slipped her wedding band on, picked up her purse, and shut her locker.

"What?  Oh.  Yeah, see you tomorrow," Mary muttered absently as Jewell departed.  But she was too busy mentally scolding herself for having accepted the money to notice that the dancer was leaving.

"_Why did I say yes?  Why didn't I realize what I was doing at the time?"_

By taking the money, she had already broken her vow not to go into debt in Fort Lauderdale.  Oh, sure, it was only Jewell this time, and she had borrowed the money with her permission.  But whom would she borrow from next?  A credit company?  Followed by a debt management company?  And then, when things got really desperate, would she steal from people she cared about, the way she had stolen from her youngest brothers back in Glenoak?

"_Calm down.  You'll get your paycheck Friday and you'll pay Jewell back first.  Then you'll put the rest in the bank and save it to pay bills at the end of the month.  You'll only take money out to spend it on necessities like food.  Things will be tight for the first few months, but they'll end up fine.  Just believe in yourself."_

Mary relaxed a bit after her moment of positive thinking.  She started to dress, but accidentally dropped her shirt on the floor.  As she knelt down to pick it up, she heard footsteps approaching from the side.  

"Well, well, well.  Look at you, on your knees like the dog that you are," Babs spat harshly.  With a contemptuous sneer, she added, "You'll be on the street turning tricks in no time."

Mary looked at her scornfully for a moment, wanting to vent a few choice insults of her own.  But Babs looked so skinny and pathetic that she couldn't force herself to do it.  Instead, she humbly looked away from the veteran dancer, stood up, and continued to dress.


	12. Smoke and Hot Wax

Mary exited through the club's black doors, stepping into the nascent evening.  The air wasn't quite as bright and warm as it had been during her lunchtime jaunt to the sushi bar, but it was much more so than it had been inside the club.  Mary inhaled deeply, trying to force herself to gradually get used to the contrast between the two worlds.

She walked out to her car, hopped in, rolled the windows down, and sped out of the parking lot onto the boulevard.  Her car engine hummed in the temperate evening, droning much more gently than the booming bass speakers in the club had all afternoon.  With the windows rolled down and the breeze caressing her hair, she zoomed toward her apartment in the waning sunlight.

***

Back when Mary had lived at home in Glenoak, Annie Camden had done her best to domesticate her daughter.  Despite teenage Mary's burgeoning interests in basketball and boys, Annie had attempted to teach Mary some basic skills she thought every girl should learn:  cooking, cleaning, some sewing, even a bit of plumbing.  But Lucy had always outshone Mary at these kinds of tasks, so Mary eschewed them to focus instead on what came easily:  her jump shot.

Unfortunately, on this particular gentle Florida evening, Mary found herself wishing she had paid a bit more attention to her mother's domestic lessons.  Mere moments after she had begun heating oil to stir-fry some vegetables, the skillet erupted in flames.  Of course, thanks to her prior firefighter training, as well as the experience of accidentally charring the Colonel's guest bedroom that one time, Mary knew not to panic.  She grabbed an oven mitt, took the skillet by the handle, and set it in the sink.  She didn't turn on the water, for she knew that this would scatter the oil and spread the fire outside the skillet.  Instead she let the fuel burn itself out, keeping her fire extinguisher handy in case things got out of control.

Of course, as the fire burned out, it produced clouds of black, oily smoke, which eventually wafted up to the apartment's smoke alarm.  It was one of those alarms that, when triggered, produced a high-pitched whine loud enough to wake a coma patient.  The sheer eardrum-rupturing volume forced Mary to cover her ears as she fled to the balcony.  Panicked, she opened the balcony door and flipped on her ceiling fan to circulate the cleaner outdoor air into the apartment.  Then she rushed outside to escape the din.

As she stood bathed in the flaming orange glow of the setting sun, impatiently hoping for the smoke in her apartment to dissipate enough so that the screeching alarm would silence itself, she thought, "_Screw this.  I'm going to Subway."_

***

Thanks in part to Florida's lack of sales tax, Mary spent just under five dollars of Jewell's money on dinner.  She kept the receipt to remind herself exactly how much she owed Jewell.

Then she returned to her apartment and climbed up the two flights of stairs to find Doris standing in the hallway, her right hand on her hip.  "What is that horrible smell coming from your apartment?" Doris asked sourly.

Mary blushed as she sniffed the air.  It smelled unmistakably like smoke.  "Oh, um, I tried to cook dinner earlier and it didn't go so well."

"What do you mean?" Doris looked at her suspiciously.

"I kind of accidentally set my dinner on fire."

"You started a fire?  Young lady, there are no fires allowed in this apartment."

"I know.  I told you, ma'am, it was an accident."

Doris didn't seem to hear her.  "I told Harold I heard one of those infernal smoke alarms beeping earlier and he said I was crazy."  She cracked her apartment door and shrieked into the opening.  "Harold, I told you I heard one of those damn-blasted smoke alarms.  The young lady across the hall started a fire."

Harold's voice issued from the apartment, "Damn right she did…in my pants!"

"Oh, shut up, you dirty old scoundrel!" Doris shouted back as she entered her apartment and slammed the door, neglecting to say goodbye to Mary.

Mary stood for a moment in stunned silence.  "_Wow.  I really have some charming neighbors._"

***

After Mary had attempted to air out and freshen up the apartment a bit more, she realized that the time was approaching for her appointment at the salon.  Jewell had written the address and directions from the Foxxy Laydee, so Mary drove to the club first in order not to get lost.  The place looked impressive at night, glowing in all its neon glory, with several fancy cars waiting in the valet parking line.  Mary felt a bit curious about what sort of wildness might be going on inside, and what kind of big spenders might be in there, but she didn't really have any reason to stop in.  Plus she needed to hurry to her appointment at the salon.

"_Turn left on Broward. Three blocks.  Traffic light, then turn right on Fourteenth.  Wow, there it is.  For once in my life I didn't screw something up._"

Mary found a parking spot and entered the building.  It was clean and brightly lit with vinyl-covered chairs lining the aqua-colored walls and magazines on wooden racks next to the chairs.  A receptionist sat behind a counter clicking away at a computer keyboard, and Mary approached her to announce that Jewell had set up an appointment for her.

"Oh, you work at the _Foxxy Laydee_?"

Mary nodded.  "Just started there today, actually."

"How exciting!  A lot of our best and most loyal customers work there.  Don't worry about a thing, honey, we'll take good care of you.  Debi's going to give you your bikini wax tonight, and she'll be with you in about five minutes, OK?"

Mary smiled and thanked the woman, and picked up a fashion magazine with which to pass the time.

***

In a few minutes a chubby blond appeared and asked for Mary.  Mary stood up and nervously wrung her hands.

"Hi.  Come this way, sweetheart.  We'll get you taken care of."  Debi led Mary down a hallway into a private room with a paper-covered chair in the middle.  It reminded Mary just a bit too much of a doctor's office.  "Go ahead and get out of your pants and make yourself comfortable.  I'll be back in a couple minutes to wax you."

_"Take _off _my _pants_ and get _comfortable_?"  _Mary stared at Debi for a moment before she could form words.  "Wait," she blurted nervously.  "I've never had one of these done before.  Could you explain how it works, exactly?"

"Oh, certainly.  Basically, I'm going to spread a melted waxy substance across your pubic area, leaving behind only a stripe of hair above the vagina.  Then I'll place some contact paper on the wax.  As it cools, the wax will bond to the paper.  Meanwhile, the excess hair will get stuck in the wax.  Once everything has cooled off, I'll remove the paper, which will take the wax and hair with it.  Then I'll trim and shave the leftover stripe of hair to make it attractive."

Mary grimaced.  "Is it as painful as it sounds?"

Debi smiled and patted Mary's arm reassuringly.  "Not nearly.  I'm pretty gentle.  Now go on, sit down, relax.  I'll be right back."  She closed the door after she walked out to give Mary privacy.

As Mary removed her jeans and underwear, she felt that strange feeling in the pit of her stomach, the one she used to get before a basketball tryout or a first date with a guy.  "_I've never really had anyone messing around _down there _before.  This is going to be weird._"

***

Debi did her best to make Mary feel comfortable, despite the awkward fact that Mary's vagina was the focus of all the activity occurring in the room.  The proceedings went just as Debi had described them, although the paper removal did bring tears to Mary's eyes.

"Wow!  I remember one time I ripped a band-aid off my older brother Matt's leg, and he actually cried because it hurt so bad.  I made fun of him at the time, but now I realize how he felt."

"Aw, I'm sorry, honey.  I tried to be gentle, but you gotta admit, you did kind of have a jungle down there.  Is this your first time waxing?"

"Yes."

"Oh, that's right.  You told me that when you first came in.  I'm sorry, it's been a long day."

Mary looked up at a wall clock, which read 8:50 PM.  "It certainly has, hasn't it?"

***

After Debi had finished, she removed her gloves and commented, "Wow.  We should have taken a 'before' shot, because you could definitely pose for a magazine now as the 'after'.  It looks great."

Mary looked down at the result.  She thought it looked rather pink, bald and unattractive, kind of like a newborn baby's malformed head.  But whatever.  If it would make her more money at the club then it was all good.

"Gosh, it kind of itches," Mary commented as she stood up to put her pants back on.

"The area might be a bit red and irritated for a day or two," Debi said.

"A day or two?  But I have to work tomorrow!  I can't go to work with a red crotch!"

"Don't worry, it won't look too bad.  I can sell you some soothing cream to put on it to reduce the irritation…"  
"Yes, please," Mary interrupted while zipping her jeans.

Debi led her back to the cash register in the front and placed a white tube of lotion on the counter.  "OK, the wax is forty-five dollars and the cream is seven fifty.  Your total is fifty-two fifty."  Mary had exact change after her trip to Subway, and she handed it to her.  Debi counted the money and said, "Oh, OK.  Um, thank you."  Mary smiled but Debi didn't smile back.

She turned and headed back toward her car, wondering why Debi had looked at her so strangely.

***

Mary returned home and was relieved to find that neither Doris nor Harold awaited her in the hall.  She entered her apartment and noticed that the smoky stink still lingered ever so faintly in the air.  Oh well.  It had seemed like a long day, and she felt too tired to do anything more to freshen the apartment that night.

She checked her answering machine.  No new messages.  Had she given Robbie her new number?  Probably not.  Oh well.  She puzzled for a minute about why she had thought of him first, before anyone in her actual family.  Perhaps it was because he had been the last person living in her old house to whom she had spoken.

God, what would he say if he knew?  A part of her wanted to call him up, just to blurt it out:  "Hey Robbie, guess what?  I'm stripping for cash!"

But she knew he had been living in that house with her father and Matt for too long.  They had influenced him to act like themselves, spying and reporting back to Eric and Annie anytime something sounded wrong.  And stripping would definitely sound wrong to Robbie now.

What had happened to that cool guy she had met during her community service stint?  Sure, he had been a bit grabby and pushy, and definitely way too messed up for her.  But of course, that had been a large part of his appeal to her, the preacher's daughter.  That guy would have heard the news about her stripping and laughed.  Then he would have come out to watch her work, with a wad of ones handy.  But the new Robbie was different, far too brotherly.  He was the one who had advised her to break up with Captain Jack.

The new Robbie, always with the advice.  No.  She could not tell him.  He would just lecture her on the impropriety of stripping for money, and then he would tell Eric and Annie.  And that would be unacceptable, because of course she could never tell anyone else in her family.  Talk about your lectures.

Nope.  She could never tell anyone she knew from back home.  Never ever ever.


	13. The Natural Way

With a yawn and a stretch, Mary arose to greet her second day of work at the _Foxxy Laydee_.  She noticed that she felt a bit more tired and sore than usual.  All that dancing must have been harder physical work than it had seemed at the time.

After her peach and glass of skim milk for breakfast, she hopped into the shower.

_"Oh my word!"_

As Mary inspected her newly waxed bikini area, she nearly began to cry.  The entire area was covered with pink, irritated bumps.

_"How could this have happened?  I used the lotion last night!"_

Mary hurriedly showered then slathered another layer of lotion onto the affected area, wishing that somehow, during the short drive to work, the irritated bumps would magically disappear.  She wasted another bit of time selecting clothes she wouldn't wear for more than a few minutes inside the club, and then headed out for the morning.

***

"Good morning!" Jewell greeted Mary cheerfully in the locker room.

"Hi, Jewell," Mary said, forcing a smile.

"So, how did it go at the salon last night?"

Mary hesitated for a minute, then began to remove her pants.  "I don't know, Jewell.  Is this normal?"

Jewell looked at Mary's bikini area for a second then said, "Yeah, that can happen."

Mary looked at Jewell with panic in her eyes.  "Can I really dance like this?  I mean, guys won't tip me if I look like this, will they?"

Jewell rolled her eyes.  "Honey, please.  With _those tits, trust me, they'll keep tipping you plenty.  But if you feel embarrassed about it, then just do most of your nude dancing with your back to the crowd.  Work that ass."_

She slapped Mary's behind playfully, and Mary let out a relieved giggle.  "Thanks for the advice.  So, do you think I should get a new outfit today?"

Jewell perked up at the thought of re-entering the wardrobe closet.  "Sure!  Let's get Belinda to let us in."

As Mary walked, pants-free, from the locker room to the wardrobe closet, she felt a growing sense of liberation, as opposed to the gut-wrenching fear of being naked that she had felt for most of the day yesterday.  She smiled to herself as she thought, _"This is the new me, wild and free!"_

"Mary, I need to see you in my office after you pick out your costume," Clive said to her in passing.

_"Clive?  What's he doing in here?  Hide!  HIDE!"_  Mary rushed to put her hands over her private area.

Clive chuckled.  "Relax, Mary.  I saw everything yesterday.  It's no big deal.  By the way, nice bikini wax."

Mary nodded appreciatively, but did not remove her hands.

***

Mary satisfied herself with a sparkly blue sequined bikini.  After she and Jewell had dressed and proceeded backstage to await their first assignments of the day, Mary decided to give her lender a financial update.

"I spent forty-five dollars on the wax, plus seven-fifty on the lotion, and about five dollars on dinner.  So that's…um, let's see…fifty-seven-fifty."

"What about the tip?"

Mary stared at her blankly.

"You did tip the girl at the salon, didn't you?"

Mary's jaw dropped.  "Oh my gosh.  _That's why Debi was looking at me so funny when I left."_

Jewell put her hand to her forehead.  "Dear, sweet, Virgin Mary.  What are we going to do with you?"

"Do you think I could just tip her extra next time to make up for it?"

"I'd be very surprised if Debi ever booked you as a client again after a faux pas like that.  Shame, too.  She's one of the best they've got."

"I feel so stupid!"

Jewell patted her on the shoulder.  "It's OK.  Next time I go I'll try to catch up with her and explain that it was an honest mistake."

"Would you?  Oh, thanks so much."

"No problem.  Now, don't forget to see Clive.  He wanted to see you in his office, remember?"

"Oh, right!  Thanks again.  Gosh, Jewell, what would I do without you?"

As Mary ran toward the hallway that led to Clive's office, Jewell began to wonder how a naive bumbler like Mary really had made it this far on her own.

***

"Mary, sit down, please."  Clive motioned to one of his comfortable office chairs.  "I just wanted to review your technique with you and make a few suggestions.  Now overall, I thought you did a good job for your first day, but there are some things I think you could improve."

"Such as?"

Clive walked around to the front of his desk and sat on the corner, facing Mary.  He thought for a minute, inhaled, and said, "Your dancing yesterday was nice and rhythmic, but it wasn't overly sexy.  What I mean by that is, yes, you moved your hips and ass and breasts to the beat and everything, but it wasn't quite strip-club quality dancing."

Mary swallowed nervously.  "OK.  What could I do differently?"

Clive paused for another moment and then said, "Be sexier.  One thing that might help is to imagine you're having good sex while you're dancing."  Clive noticed that Mary's eyes bugged out ever so slightly, so he added, "Remember, this is _exotic_ dancing.  We're here to sell the illusion of sex to the customers.  Just dancing around naked by itself isn't going to cut it."

_"Gosh, this is harder than I thought it would be.  There's so much to remember."_

"Mary?  Are you with me?"  Clive waved a hand in front of her face.

"What?  Oh, yes."

"Good.  Now go on out there and make some more money."

***

Belinda paired Jewell and Mary up on stage for the first set of the morning, and Jewell noticed a marked change in the girl's dancing.  What had been a series of graceful if not exceptionally sexy movements yesterday had become an odd mish-mash of arrhythmic pelvic thrusts and chest jiggling today.

"Mary, what are you doing?"

"I'm trying to sex up my dancing.  Clive told me I wasn't dancing sexy enough yesterday."

"Hmm.  OK, listen, I'm not trying to make fun of you, but what you're doing right now is not sexy at all."

"It isn't?"

Jewell shook her head back and forth.

"But Clive said it would help to imagine myself having good sex while I was dancing."

"Well, unless you were having sex with a camel, I doubt that's what you'd look like while you were doing it.  Here, watch me."

Jewell began undulating her hips to the beat of the song, and Mary noticed that her breasts jiggled effortlessly as she did.  The two movements were not mutually exclusive.  Then, on each side, Jewell stuck her thumbs between her g-string bikini and her hips and began to work them around as if she really wanted to pull the thing off, but she never did.

Mary grinned.  "You're teasing them, aren't you?"

"Yeah, baby!  Guys love to be teased.  Not too much though, you know.  You saw what happened yesterday when Babs overdid it with the teasing."

Mary recalled Babs walking offstage without a single dollar in tip money.  "Yeah."

"You know what else helps your dancing?  I know it sounds kinda creepy, but put a mirror over your bed and watch your movements the next time you get busy.  Clive and I have one and…oops, that was probably too much information."  Jewell's cheeks turned the slightest shade of pink.

Despite being slightly skeeved by all the sex talk, Mary couldn't help but be a bit curious.  "No way!  You guys have a mirror on the ceiling in your bedroom?"

"Not our bedroom.  It's kind of a love-nest sort of room.  I don't know how to describe it exactly.  But hey, if you want to swing by and use it sometime, you'd be more than welcome."

Mary balked.  "Oh, thanks, but I'm not really into casual sex."

Belinda, looking muscular and powerful in a form-fitting silky red dress, passed between the two of them onstage and rhetorically asked, "Is this social hour or are we here to make tips?"

"Right," Mary muttered, and tried to resume dancing in a manner halfway between the one she had used that morning and the one from the day before.

Jewell looked over at her and shook her head.  "Mary, just go back the way you danced yesterday.  There was nothing wrong with it.  You should just trust your instincts."__

"_Oh, but I can't.  Because my instincts are telling me I should be about three thousand miles away from this place right now_."__

But Mary nodded and smiled, and went back to dancing the way that came naturally.


	14. New Attitude

Mary danced her way through the rest of her workweek, at which point she took home a handsome paycheck.  She was a bit disappointed that it wasn't quite as much as a week's pay would have been from Jetblue, but Jewell reminded her that the really good money would come in time.  And nonetheless, there was enough for Mary to repay Jewell's hundred-dollar loan.

There was also enough for her to buy groceries for the week, as well as to open a small checking account at the bank.  Mary planned to use the money in this account to pay her monthly bills, so that she wouldn't have to borrow money from anyone anymore.  Thus by opening the account she took her second tangible step – after the first step of getting her job at the _Foxxy Laydee_ – toward her personal goal of financial independence.

***

The weekend schedule at the club didn't list Mary's name, even on Sunday, so she wondered what she would do to pass the time.  She and Jewell had exchanged numbers at work on Friday, but there was no guarantee that her new friend would call and ask to hang out with her.  And Mary didn't quite feel comfortable calling and interfering with her life.  After all, Jewell had a husband to spend time with and business classes to study for.

So Mary decided instead to go on a solo sightseeing spree.  After all, she was in gorgeous, sunny Southern Florida now.  She might as well get to know her surroundings and blend in with the tourists for a day or two.

***

Saturday mid-morning, Mary drove downtown by herself.  She remembered that a while back, one of the guys at the airport had told her the Riverwalk was a nice place with plenty to do, so she checked it out.

She ambled slowly along the smoothly surfaced walkway, gazing out upon the deep blue water as a gentle breeze passed pleasant air through her auburn hair.  To her left, numerous clean, bright shops and restaurants buzzed with a mix of tourists and locals.  Fort Lauderdale was really a beautiful place.  "_And instead of getting out and enjoying it, I'll be stuck inside a dark, smoky, sleazy strip club from ten to six every day."_

Then again, if she were still working for Jetblue, things might have been worse.  She would have been stuck in a cramped airplane cabin for up to twelve hours a day without much excitement, other than the suspense of wondering whether the plane would take off and land safely.  The _Foxxy Laydee, on the other hand, provided the illicit thrill of prancing around naked for money, and Mary found herself getting used to it much faster than she had ever expected to.  So she decided she shouldn't complain._

However, after wandering into one of the Riverwalk gift shops and looking at some of the clothing and trinket prices, Mary decided she certainly hadn't saved up enough to be shopping there yet.  She went back to her car, fired it up, and tried to figure out a cheap place to go that wouldn't require too much gas.  The obvious answer came to her eventually: the beach.  Without a map handy, she chose to follow the directions her instincts provided, figuring that she had to end up at a beach eventually.  This was Florida, after all.  Unfortunately, Mary's poor directional instincts led her all the way to west Broward County before she realized that she was completely lost.

As she approached what appeared to be the edge of civilization, she pulled into a gas station.  A scruffy twenty-something man in overalls and a greasy t-shirt sat in front of the building, leaning back in his chair.  When he noticed Mary approaching, he hastily removed his NASCAR cap and stood up.

"Could I help you, ma'am?" he asked with a slight southern drawl, lasciviously lowering his eyes to focus better on her upper torso.

And then a strange thing happened to Mary.  Instead of viewing this man as she usually would have – a somewhat repugnant guy who was asking to get his face slapped – she began to view him as something else entirely: a potential customer.

She shifted her hips and answered, with a slight hint of breathlessness, "You sure could, mister.  I'm just a poor, little lost girl, trying to find her way back to the big city."  She batted her eyelashes in as flirty a manner as she possibly could.  "If you could help me, I would be so grateful."

"Oh, I'd be more than happy to help a pretty little thing like yourself," the man grinned, showing a full set of mildly stained teeth.  "Follow me."

He led her into the gas station's convenience store and picked out a Broward County map.  He spread it across the countertop and pointed out the route Mary would need to take.

"Thank you so much, sweetie," Mary gushed.  "Listen, I'd like to return the favor."

The man's eyes bugged out.  "You would?"

"Yes.  I'm an exotic dancer at the _Foxxy Laydee_, and I work weekdays from ten in the morning until six in the evening, and if you were to stop by and see me I would just love to give you a free dance."

"_Foxxy Laydee_?  Isn't that one of them there strip clubs?"

"It's a nightclub which features exotic dancing, yes."

The man's eyes bugged out again and he slapped his hand down on the map.  "Shoot, Maurice ain't never gonna believe it when I tell him I met me a real live stripper at work today!"

Mary fake-laughed entirely more than was necessary.  Then she re-composed herself and said, "Well you just bring your friend Maurice with you when you come see me, okay?  Remember, it's the _Foxxy Laydee just outside downtown Fort Lauderdale, and I work weekdays."_

"Don't it cost a chunk of change to get in one of them places though?"

Mary shook her head.  "There's no cover charge before nine PM, so you and your friend can get in for free."  She couldn't believe she remembered that.  Maybe some of Clive's speeches had subconsciously sunk in.

"Well, shoot, I sure will try to come and see you, ma'am."

Mary waved and strutted toward the exit, but as she reached the door the man called out, "Hey, ma'am, what's your name?"

She spun around and shot him a confident smile.  "Virgin Mary.  Ask for me by name at the club, baby."  Then she blew him a lusty kiss, and exited the building.


	15. A Day at the Beach

The experience at the gas station had built Mary's budding confidence up to a new level; working her stuff was beginning to come as naturally to her as free throws had once upon a time.  As she walked back to her car with her newfound self-assurance, an idea began to form in her head.  She figured that if she had been able to convince that impoverished looking gas-station attendant to drive all the way into town and drop a few bucks to see her dance, then there was no telling who else she could get to visit her.  Nor could it be told how much money she could make; but at this moment, the potential seemed unlimited.

She drove back into town with her windows down, singing along to her radio at top volume, all but inviting people to stare at her while she drove by.  As she drove, she formulated a plan.  Even though she hadn't been on the club's list of dancers for the weekend, she could still do some work.  She could put on her skimpiest, sexiest bikini, go to the beach, frolic around, and tell every man there to come visit her at the _Foxxy Laydee_ during the week.  It was a shame she didn't have any business cards to hand out, but she figured she could talk to Clive about that on Monday.

***

After Mary had found her way back home and changed into the white bikini she had brought home from her first day at the _Foxxy Laydee_, she walked across the hall and knocked on her next unsuspecting victim's apartment door.  

"Who is it?" Harold's voice issued from inside.

"It's Mary, your neighbor from across the hall."

Mary heard some loud scurrying inside the apartment – perhaps even the sound of something breaking.  Then, a mere half-second afterward, a sweaty Harold frantically opened the door.

"Wow, you move fast for a man your age," Mary teased.

"Still quick like a fox, baby," Harold said with a wink.  His eyes roamed down and delightedly consumed her scantily clad body.

Mary noticed him leering and smiled.  Placing her hands behind her back and squirming like a naughty schoolgirl, she whispered, "Harold, I was hoping you could do me a biiiig favor."

He lifted his eyes to meet hers, and she could see that they were filled with surprise.  "You?  Want _me_?  To do _you_ a favor?"

Mary nodded.  "See, I just started my new job this week, and I really need the money, and I thought you might want to become one of my regular customers."

"Oh?  Where do you work?"

Mary bit her lip before answering, "It's a place called the _Foxxy Laydee_.  Perhaps you've heard of it?"

Harold's eyes lit up.  "That's the place with the dancing girls!"

Mary nodded demurely.

Harold licked his lips to keep a bit of drool from escaping at the corner.  "Oh, goodness, I bet you make a ton of money."

"Well, not yet.  Like I said, I've only been working there for a week.  And I only work day shifts, so it's harder to make tips.  But if I had a regular paying customer like yourself, well, that would help out a lot."

Harold thought for a minute, and a nervous look crossed his face.  "You know, sweetheart, I'd love to.  Believe me, I'd love to.  But I've got Doris here, you know?  And if I went somewhere without her, she would start asking questions.  And of course I'd have to make up a lie to tell her about where I went, but then if she found out where I'd really been, it could get ugly."

Mary smiled.  "I understand.  But if she ever leaves to, I don't know, play bridge or something, and you find yourself with a couple free hours between 10 AM and 6 PM, then you'll know where to find me.  Oh, and please spread the word.  Tell all your friends to go to the _Foxxy Laydee_ and ask for Virgin Mary."

Harold nodded enthusiastically.  "Anything for you, baby.  I'll go through the whole apartment complex, door to door, spreading the word!"

"That's kind," Mary chuckled, "but you don't have to go that far."

Harold shrugged.  "Hey, I've got plenty of friends here with money and time to burn, and no ball and chain tying them down."

Mary tilted her head and smiled at him sweetly.  "Thank you so much."  She leaned in and gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek, making sure to give him a face-full of cleavage in the process.

"My pleasure," Harold mumbled into her left boob.

***

After getting explicit directions from Harold to make sure she wouldn't get lost again, Mary then made her way to the beach.  It was still a gorgeous, sunny day, although the breeze made it a bit too chilly for all but the heartiest individuals to set foot in the water.  Nonetheless, Mary still found plenty of people enjoying the sun and sand on this early fall day in southern Florida.  Immediately upon her arrival, she set about finding men who appeared to be there without women or children in tow.  Fortunately, there was no short supply of such individuals.

She walked up to a couple of muscular guys with closely shaven hair and tattoos.  They seemed very friendly and receptive to her conversational advances.  After a bit of chat, she found out that they were military men.  She revealed her job to them, and then asked them if they would like to see her dance.  "Of course," they answered.  "Great," she smiled at them as she twirled her hair.  "Bring your friends, too."

***

Things continued this way for more than an hour.  Mary figured she must have talked to at least fifty different guys while she was there, and all of them had seemed pretty interested in paying her a visit at the _Foxxy Laydee_.  Well, all of them except for that gay couple, but even they had said they might swing by just for the hell of it.

However, Mary's self-promotional efforts came to a screeching halt when she approached a brawny blond lifeguard.  "Hi there," she smiled as sweetly as possible.  "What's your name?"

The lifeguard smiled back at her briefly from his station, before turning his sunglass-shielded eyes back to the water.  "My name is Mark."

"Hi Mark.  I'm Mary."  She wiggled a bit, but he did not look back at her.  Nevertheless, she continued to try to attract his attention.  "Um, so, not many people in the water today, eh?" she blabbered.

"No," Mark answered, keeping his eyes on the water, "but I still have to watch the ones who are."

"Oh.  Of course you do.  Well, I'll make this quick, then.  My name is Mary and, well, I just wanted to let you know that I dance at the _Foxxy Laydee_ weekdays from 10 to 6, and…"

Mark finally looked at her again, but it was only to cut her off sharply.  "Excuse me, Miss, but there's no soliciting allowed here.  I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"Oh, but I…but I, um, wasn't going to ask for money from you, I was just going to ask you to come see me…" Mary stuttered lamely.

"Ma'am, please leave now or I'll have beach security escort you out."

Mary thought for a minute about the possibility of meeting the security man of her dreams here on the beach, the way Lucy had met her boyfriend Kevin Kinkirk at airport security in Buffalo several months ago.  But she decided to leave peacefully instead.  No reason to cause a nasty scene in front of all the potential new customers she had just scored.

As she drove home Mary decided that, despite the embarrassing ending, it had been a very productive day.

***

A/N:  I apologize for the long delay between chapters.  Please rest assured that I will not abandon this story before it is finished, even though that might take a long time.


	16. Coping With Monday

Monday morning Mary awoke excited to go to work.  _"I'm going to have all kinds of new customers today.  Clive and Jewell and Belinda are going to be so surprised."_

She went through her usual morning routine:  shower, hair, makeup, clothes.  Then she ate her usual breakfast – skim milk and a peach – while enjoying the gentle morning breeze on her balcony.  Normally she would have at least glanced through the local newspaper while she ate, but this morning her mind was too busy wandering ahead to work.  She could hardly wait to tell Jewell about all the new customers she had procured over the weekend.

However, she didn't have to wait long.  Her phone rang unexpectedly, and Jewell was the caller.

"Hey, Jewell.  What's up?"

"Listen, Mary, I know this is short notice, but I wanted to let you know I won't be at work this morning.  In fact, I'm not going to work day shifts anymore.  My friend Corinne just got out of…um, well, she's been sick for a while but now she's better, and Clive decided to put her on night shift so she can make up for the money she lost while she was out.  I'm going to move back to night shift too so I can be there for her if she needs me, even if it means I have to miss a few night classes."

Mary was slightly dumbfounded at the sudden news.  Other than Cynthia, Jewell had been the only dancer she had really talked to or gotten to know at the club.  Suddenly, without her new best friend being there, the prospect of going to work this morning didn't seem so appealing.  All she could manage to say in response to Jewell's announcement was, "Oh."

Sensing her friend's disappointment in just that one simple word, Jewell tried to assuage her.  "It won't be so bad, Mary, I promise.  I switched shifts with another dancer, and she agreed to take over mentoring you.  Her name is Lady Deelicious.  You'll love her.  She's a real trip."

Unsure she was ready to take on meeting yet another new person, Mary swallowed nervously.  But it didn't sound like she really had any choice in the matter.  She sighed and said, "Okay.  I guess I need to start meeting some of the other girls anyway."

"That's the spirit!  And I also wanted to tell you that Clive and I are throwing a party at our house after the club closes on Friday night.  You're definitely invited."

"Oh, thanks!"  Mary struggled to remember for a minute, then gave up and asked, "Um, what time does the club close on Friday again?"

"Four A.M."

"Really?  Wow.  That's kinda late, but maybe I'll swing by."

"Great.  I'll have Clive give you directions before Friday.  Well, knock 'em dead out there, and I guess I'll see you at shift change."

"Yeah.  See ya."

***

Not knowing quite what to expect from her first shift without Jewell being there to support her, Mary arrived at the _Foxxy Laydee_ and nervously entered its dark doors.  She waved hello to Sheba at the front desk, then walked apprehensively down the red hallway back toward the dressing room.

Clive was waiting there to greet her excitedly.  "Mary, good morning!  I know Jewell already called to give you the heads-up about this, so I'm going to go right ahead and introduce you to your new mentor, the fabulous Lady Deelicious!"

Immediately Mary recognized the woman standing next to Clive as the heavy-chested, chocolate-skinned beauty who had been dancing on-stage with Jewell the day Mary had first entered the club to apply for a job.  "Nice to meet you," Mary greeted her politely.

"Oh yes, it is always nice to meet me.  I'm Lady Deelicious but you can call me Lady Dee as long as you don't piss me off."

Mary's mouth dropped open as she tried but failed to find words to respond to such a brash statement.

"What's the matter?  You trying to catch flies or something?  Shut that trap and come with me.  We gotta get your ass all dressed up in something sexy."

Lady Dee grabbed her arm and dragged her toward the wardrobe closet.  Mary looked back at Clive with a face that screamed, "_Please get me away from this crazy woman!_" but Clive just shot her a thumbs-up and a giant grin.

***

"I think you would look good in red," Lady Dee said as she rifled through the racks of new outfits in the closet.

"Oh no, I look slutty in red," Mary disagreed.

Lady Dee put a hand on her hip and swiveled to look at Mary incredulously.  "Honey, where the hell do you think you are, church?  Put this on."  She handed Mary a tiny red g-string bikini with tassels on the nipple areas.

"Well actually, I think I would prefer something with a little bit more, uh, coverage," Mary said blushingly.

Lady Dee jerked her head back in surprise.  "Why?  You're just gonna take it off anyway."

Trying not to become too unnerved by her new mentor's self-confidence, Mary countered, "I realize that, but in those moments that I'm not completely naked, I like knowing that I'm not going to feel the air conditioning across my butt cheeks."

"A modest stripper?  Well, damn.  Now I've seen everything.  Alright, then.  If you insist, try this one instead."  Lady Dee pulled a slightly less revealing red bikini outfit complete with a devil tail and a tiara with devil horns from the shelf.

"What is that?"

Lady Dee looked at it and replied sarcastically, "I think they call this a 'costume'."

Mary sighed at the sarcasm and sniffed, "I don't want to dress up like the devil."

"Why not?  I think you'd look cute."

Mary took the costume from Lady Dee and inspected it more closely.  The silky red satin fabric felt smooth and inviting in her hands.  "_God, am I really going to put this thing on?  Without a doubt I would look cute in it, and it does feel comfortable.  But if I wear it…_"

"You gonna wear that or just feel at it all day?"

Mary took a deep breath, thought about it for one last moment, and then answered, "Yeah, I'll wear it."

Lady Dee smiled at her.  "Alright, now you're talking!  Get your ass dressed and we'll go report to Belinda, or Lady B as I call her."  Then she leaned in close to Mary and added, "I'll give you three guesses what the 'B' stands for, and it ain't Belinda."

Mary smirked.  "She does strike one as being a bit frosty, doesn't she?"

"A bit?  Shit, girl!  She could walk around the North Pole without a coat and not catch a chill."

Mary couldn't help but chuckle.

Lady Dee pushed Mary toward the door.  "Alright, enough chat.  Go on and put that costume on, now.  We ain't got all morning.  We've got money to make!"

***

Just offstage, the two girls checked in with Belinda as soon as they were dressed and ready to go.  "You'll both be on the main stage," she directed.  "Mary, you're on left, Lady Dee, you're front and center."

"You're starting me on the main stage?" Mary gasped with excitement.

"Yeah, but don't get your silks in a wad," Belinda grunted.  "It's just so Lady Dee can keep a close watch on you.  She's really the one who belongs front and center."

"Shit, Belinda, if I didn't know better I'd think you were flirting with me," Lady Dee joked.

"Don't push your luck, Missy," Belinda growled.  "Just because you've earned top billing doesn't mean I like you any better than the newbie."

As Belinda started to walk away, Lady Dee caught her shoulder and whispered a question to her that Mary couldn't quite hear.

Belinda looked in Mary's direction, making no effort whatsoever to protect the young dancer from hearing her response to Lady Dee's inquiry by lowering her voice:  "Well of course she makes good money.  She can't dance to save her life, but she's a looker, and that's all men care about.  Don't worry.  She won't steal any of your usual business, and she won't drive any of it away either.  You'll be fine."

Lady Dee smiled at Mary embarrassedly and apologetically.  "Um, sorry about that, but Lady Dee has to look out for Lady Dee, know what I mean?"

Mary shook her head.  "No, not exactly.  What was that all about?"

"I was just asking Lady B if Jewell switched shifts because she was losing business to you.  Lady B didn't have to answer my question so publicly and rudely the way she did, but I guess she just wanted to live up to her nickname first thing this morning.  You know what I'm saying?"

Mary nodded and explained, "Actually, Jewell switched shifts because her friend Corinne was coming back to work tonight.  It didn't have anything to do with me.  Or at least, that's what she told me."

"Oh, Corinne's back," Lady Dee smirked.  "Say no more.  Those two are tighter than this g-string I'm wearing."

Before Mary could respond, music began blasting and the deejay's voice came over the loudspeaker.  "Gentlemen, let's get this Monday morning show started the right way.  On the main stage, we have the ever-pure Virgin Mary, the world-famous Lady Deelicious, and our very own hometown gal, Cynthia Sweetheart!"

"_Well, here I go again, ready to prance around for more money.  I really have become the complete opposite of what my parents would have wanted me to be, haven't I?  And the costume I am wearing today could not be more appropriate.  I'm sure Dad would be so proud if he saw me.  Actually, as much as I advertised myself this weekend, and as far-reaching as his gossip network is, maybe he'll have heard about me by now.  Maybe he'll  show up to scold me and take me home.  Or ship me off to Buffalo again.  Wouldn't that be a trip?_"

These thoughts ran through her head in a flash as she walked onto the showroom floor.  After she had finished strutting her way across the main stage to take her exciting new spot, Mary looked into the audience expecting to see lots of familiar faces thanks to her enterprising weekend.  But when the spotlight finally quit blinding her for a moment, from what she could tell the crowd didn't look any larger than usual.  "_Oh well.  Maybe they'll show up at lunch hour."_

***

Mary spent much of her morning on the main stage and, despite it being a better location than the auxiliary stage she usually danced on, still didn't make much more in tips than her usual take.  "_Geez.  It's lunchtime.  Where are all the guys I talked to over the weekend?_  _They said they'd come…_"

"Mary?  Mary Camden?" a voice issued from the audience.

"_Oh good, someone finally showed up.  But wait a minute, how did he know my last name?  Virgin Mary was the name I used when I talked to everyone this weekend.  Oh my God.  Is it Dad?  I was just joking when I thought about that before, but…could it be?_"

She danced closer to the edge of the stage to get a better look at the owner of the voice, but the stage lights hindered her efforts to discern his face.  Finally she inched her way out of their glare and was able to recognize the man who had called her name.

"Oh my God!  It's you!  What are you doing here?"

***

A/N:  Sorry for the cruel cliffhanger.  Please rest assured that, unlike when 7H did its stupid cliffhanger at the end of last season, I have actually plotted the resolution of this one ahead of time, and I know exactly who Mary's looking at right now.  I'll try not to make you loyal readers have to wait too long to find out too.


	17. Extinguishing the Flame

Captain Jack looked at Mary with startled eyes.  "What am _I _doing here?  Mary, I could certainly ask you the same thing, don't you think?"

"Well, Captain – er, I mean, Jack – I kind of, um, work here now."

"You _what_?!"  Captain Jack shook his head in disbelief and disappointment.  "Gosh, Mary, I'd heard that the airline had let you go, but I had no idea you'd ended up in a place like this.  If I had known…"

Not wanting any sympathy, Mary interrupted.  "Listen, I don't have time to talk.  I'm working right now, okay?  The noon hour is important here.  My lunch break will come in another hour and a half.  Can I talk to you then?"

Belinda, having overheard the last part of the conversation, walked up behind Mary and said, "Actually, he's the only customer here right now.  You might as well go to lunch with him now and come back later."

Captain Jack nodded.  "Yes, Mary.  Come to lunch with me.  We need to talk."

Mary rolled her eyes.  About the last thing she wanted to do right now was to spend time with this man, whose relationship to her was as unclear as ever.  Friend?  Ex-boyfriend?  Mentor?  Father figure?  Not seeing any other option, however, she conceded.  "Oh, alright.  Let me go slip into my street clothes and I'll meet you in the lobby."

***

A half-hour later Mary sat across from Jack at an anonymously trendy restaurant, picking at her Cobb salad.

"Are you okay, dear?  You've hardly said two words since we left the club, and you've barely touched your food."

Mary looked up at Jack and tried to smile.  "I'm fine.  I just didn't expect to see anyone I knew at the club.  Ever."  She picked at her salad for another second and then blurted, "I mean, what on earth would prompt a guy like you to go to a place like that?"

Jack flushed and waved a hand as if hoping to wipe away his embarrassment.  "I don't usually go into places like that, but my old military buddy Harold told me there was some incredible new girl working there that I just _had_ to see.  Said her name was 'Virgin Mary' or something like that."

Mary dropped her fork and covered her mouth.  "Oh my God.  You know Harold?"

Surprised, Jack lifted his eyes to meet Mary's.  "Wait a minute.  _You_ know Harold?  Harold Becker?"

Mary closed her eyes and nodded.  Swallowing hard, she admitted, "Harold is my neighbor from across the hall.  I asked him to tell all his friends that I worked at the _Foxxy Laydee_, but I had no idea that _you_ would turn out to be one of his friends."

Jack cleared his throat uncomfortably.  "Yes, well, he was my mentor in the Air Force.  Taught me everything I know.  He's long since retired, but we still keep in touch."

"Wow.  Small world."  Mary fake chuckled and gulped from her water glass, praying that the awkward lunch from hell would just end already.

Concern etched Jack's face, and he reached out to take Mary's other hand – the one that wasn't currently gripping her water glass.  "Listen, Mary, if I had had any clue that things had been going the way they have for you, I would have done something about it.  I mean, I certainly wouldn't have let you go if I had known you would end up working at a strip club…"

Mary pulled her hand away from his.  "'Let me go'?  Excuse me, but you did not 'let me go'.  _I_ let _you_ go.  I wasn't ready for a physical relationship with you, remember?"

Jack nodded.  "Yes, I remember, and that's why I let you go.  But I'm sorry I did that.  It was shallow of me.  Obviously you needed someone to take care of you for a while, and I'm in a position to do that right now, so I'd be willing to take you back…"

"Um, _what_?  Look, I am doing perfectly well taking care of myself right now.  I do not need you or your condescending, smug attitude, okay?"

Jack sighed.  "Mary, there's no need to get angry.  I know you don't want to work at that place…"

Angrily, Mary said, "I hate to interrupt again, Jack, but you know no such thing.  For your information, I happen to like working there.  It took a little while to adjust at first, but I got used to it fast, and I've got news for you:  I'm good.  I'm earning enough to make a living and I like doing it too.  So, Captain Jack, or Jack, or whatever the heck you want to call yourself, you can take your pity and stuff it where the sun doesn't shine."  Slightly surprised by her own brazenness, Mary nonetheless stood, grabbed her purse, and walked out the restaurant door without waiting for another word from Jack.

As she reached the sidewalk, she wondered, "_Great.  Now how do I get back to work?_"

***

An hour and a half and several bus transfers later, Mary finally made her way through the black doors into the dark club.  She half expected Belinda to be in the lobby, arms crossed, waiting to scold her for taking such a long lunch break, with Sheba behind the counter snapping gum and eagerly anticipating the ensuing butt-chewing.  However, upon entering Mary found a rather different scene.  All the girls were sitting around tables in the club area, except for a few who seemed to be comparing dance moves on the main stage.  There was not a man to be found in the entire club, and the speakers were silent instead of pumping their usual bass-heavy blend of sound.

Mary spotted Cynthia painting her nails at one of the tables.  She walked up to her and asked, "What's going on?  How come no one's dancing?"

Cynthia giggled and waved a hand at the empty showroom.  "Who are we supposed to be dancing for, silly?  Each other?"

"Huh.  Good point."

"Yeah, Belinda said Monday afternoons are slow like this sometimes.  She told us to just save our energy until some paying customers actually show up."

Mary chuckled.  "That does sound like something she would say."

Cynthia changed the subject and inquired, "So, who was the geezer you went to lunch with?"

"Ugh.  Ex-boyfriend trying to get back together."

"Really?  Have a seat and do tell more," Cynthia motioned to an empty seat across the table.

"Thanks, but there's really nothing more to tell.  It's over between me and him."  Mary sat down and turned her attention to the activity occurring on the stage.  Lady Dee was in an almost horizontal position six feet in the air, supporting herself by clenching a pole with only her inner thighs.  She somehow managed to slide her way down gracefully, bounce up and land on her feet.  "Wow," Mary commented, "Lady Dee is really talented."

"She knows how to work the pole, that's for sure," Cynthia commented while painting a pinkie.  "And she's the best at shaking her tits."

"Well, she's got a little more to work with in that department than most people do," Mary joked.

"Ugh, don't remind me.  Although I'm thinking about having mine done.  I mean, most of the other girls here have had theirs done and they look spectacular.  Jobs like theirs pay for themselves in a couple months."

Mary turned away from the stage to look at Cynthia.  "What are you talking about?  I think your boobs are really pretty."

Cynthia rolled her eyes as she blew on her right hand.  "Pretty, maybe.  Big?  Not exactly."

"So what?" Mary asked, ignoring the increasingly vocal game of gin between Babs, Belinda, and one of the other girls at the table to her left.  "Big isn't everything."

"Oh, that's easy for you to say.  You're naturally blessed."

Mary sighed.  "I just think it would be a mistake for you to change what God gave you when you're just fine the way you are."

Cynthia looked up from painting her left thumb and smirked.  "You sound like a preacher's daughter or something."

Mary tried not to blush.

***

By the time Mary had changed back into her dancing costume around 3 o'clock, some customers had finally showed up.  Belinda approached her backstage and said, "Fun time's over.  Get ready to go on the main stage, slot number one."

Taken aback, Mary asked, "What about Lady Dee?  Doesn't she get the first slot?"

"Well, if she hadn't left five minutes ago to pick up her kid from school, then yeah, she would.  But since she's not here, I'm giving her slot to you instead.  Don't screw it up."

Mary felt her stomach flutter a bit.  It was only her second week on the job, her mentor was gone, and she was already being asked to take the lead slot.

"_Don't freak out.  You can do this.  Maybe if you tried the pole_…"

After the DJ called her name, Mary sashayed onto the stage in her devil costume and grabbed onto the pole, whirling around it with wild abandon.

"Yeah!  Work the pole, baby!" she heard a male voice in the audience exclaim.

Mary responded by placing her legs around the pole and rocking back and forth like she had seen Jewell and Lady Dee do several times before.  She then turned around and proceeded to slide her ass up and down it as far as possible, much to the delight of the three or four men in the club.  One of them got up and slipped a five-dollar bill into her garter, and she removed her top and shook her breasts in his face.

"Oh, I love it!  How about a table dance?" he asked as he procured a twenty for her.

"You got it," Mary said with a wink and a smile.

***

Despite having started out as a slow Monday, and despite the club's top dancer leaving early, by the time Mary clocked out Belinda said it was the best Monday afternoon they'd had in quite a while.  Mary had stepped right into the lead spot onstage and carried the workload.  She had been so pleased with her afternoon's work that she barely noticed when Babs spat on her locker.

Driving home from work that evening, she swelled with pride.  "_I can't believe it.  For the first time ever, I'm really good at a job.  And I keep improving too.  I bet in another few months they'll put me on night shift and then I'll make all kinds of money.  And who knows where it could go from there_…"

Lost in reverie as she climbed the stairs to her apartment, she stopped paying attention to her surroundings and failed to notice two male voices in the hallway.  She pulled out her door key and turned the corner, but when she saw the two men standing there she stopped and put her hands on her hips.

"Oh great.  What do you want _now_?"

***

A/N:  I wish to apologize for making you all wait for over two months with that nasty cliffhanger.  The holiday season was busy, of course, but I finally had time to get this chapter ready.  I still have a lot going on and can't guarantee when the next chapter will be ready to post, but I'll keep plugging away.

Cheers!


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